


Sacrifice Theory

by SolainRhyo



Series: Savage Trust [2]
Category: Alien vs Predator (2004), Aliens vs Predators Series - Various Authors
Genre: Aliens, Angst, Death, F/M, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies buddies, Other, Survival Horror, The Blooding Hunt, Violence, Xenomorphs, Yautja customs, blood bonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 52,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6192487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolainRhyo/pseuds/SolainRhyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After surviving the peril of the pyramid beneath Bouvetoya, Lex wakes to find herself onboard the Piper Maru. Her relief at being alive quickly turns to fear as she discovers there are other dangers lurking nearby. Charles Weyland's son knows about the Predators, knows that Lex is tied to them somehow, and he's determined to pry the truth from her by whatever means necessary. </p>
<p>As she tries to fend off Reed, Lex makes another discovery: the Predators are on the ship, too, and they're watching her, waiting for something. Caught between the human threat and the alien enigma Lex all too soon is shoved back into the only game that matters: survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. M-di H'dlak

**Author's Note:**

> This series has been posted on FFN since 2005. I've gone through and fixed things I didn't like and removed the alternate endings in order to streamline continuity.

**.x.**

Time, it seemed, had fragmented around me. Aware for a long while of simply existing, I would sometimes open my eyes to be confronted with the blurred, hazy reality surrounding me. Inevitably, I couldn't fight the fever and the medication that worked together to give me rest, and I would fall once again into the healing slumber. My sleep wasn't easy. I was assailed by dreams, by memories, by sounds, and they all haunted me, they all mocked me—warning me that not all had come to pass. Lost in delirium, I would open my eyes to see a frightening visage above me, a masked countenance that both terrified and comforted. _Not real_ , something would say to me, and so I would let myself be adrift again in the darkness, the eldritch shadows.

From time to time pain would return and I would lay lost in my world of whispers and thoughts as agony danced intricately along the length of my spine and wove itself around my torso and arms. Fever heat invaded my body, inciting my dreams to flame, and only vaguely aware of my corporeal self I would thrash in the throes of whatever horror gripped me. At intervals when I became slightly more lucid I would notice the touch of hands upon my body and I could understand the related voices if I made an effort. Coinciding with these periods of time came peaceful sleep as I rested with the distant knowledge that I was in good care.

When finally my eyes fluttered open to focus first on the hanging light above me and then my surroundings, I found that I was alone. For a moment I simply lay, groggy and disconcerted, trying to pull all the chaotic threads of my unraveled memory into one coherent strand of order.

_Temple._

_Alien._

_Hunters—_

I was sitting bolt upright. Vivid recollections flooded back to me and as the memories flooded the vacant holes in my memory I started shaking my head. It _had_ all happened, I couldn’t deny it, couldn't try to pretend it away—I caught sight of my arms them, both bandaged from wrist to elbow in heavy gauze. They were a testament to all I’d endured. My head still felt fuzzy. I tugged absently on the IV embedded under the bandages on my wrist. I became aware of a soft and steady _beep-beep-beep,_ the only other sound in the room besides my breathing, and my gaze traced several wires attached to my body to a series of monitors located not far from the bed I lay in. I let my eyes wander the rest of the room. It was undecorated, the spartan walls a pale gray, the floor metal, windowless with one steel door set off to the side. It was obviously the _Piper Maru’s_ infirmary, as the shelves and the single counter which lined the wall housed myriad medical supplies. I presently occupied a hospital issue bed, complete with raised metal rails on the sides, and all around me was more monitoring equipment as well as the IV stand. There was a small bedside table to the right as I caught a glimpse of what lay atop it an abrupt, leaden sensation settled in my gut.

It was the weapon I’d been given by the predator elder, still in its compact form. Seeing it lying there so inconspicuously drove home the fact that I had lived through events that anyone else in the world would deem insurmountable. It made me realize that I now had a considerable quandary to deal with: what would I tell people when asked what happened beneath the island, when they asked how I was the only one to survive? The truth quite obviously wasn’t going to cut it.

The door opened then, swinging inward soundlessly and emitting a woman—the same I had seen earlier. Catching sight of me upright she stopped in surprise. A warm smile creased her face and she shut the door behind her before walking to the bed.

“Ms. Woods!” she exclaimed, feeling my brow with the back of her hand. “Nice to see you're finally awake. How do you feel?”

The compassion in her voice was genuine. I liked her for it. She near my age or slightly older, her dark hair rising from her head in trendy spiky disarray. It was becoming on her. She was dressed casual, in jeans and a sweatshirt, and I wondered if she was the _Piper Maru_ ' _s_ acting medical officer. Aware she was awaiting my answer, I said in a voice rough from disuse, “All right.”

_“All right?_ ” she repeated a trifle incredulously, pulling away to regard me more closely. I gave her a sheepish, hesitant smile. Upon awaking I’d been concerned more with my fears and worries than how I actually felt. Now that I was paying attention, however, my body decided to make its numerous grievances known. My side was stiff and sore and the entirety of my back itched uncomfortably. My arms felt wooden and heavy, the back of my leg throbbed, and my shoulder where I’d been impaled ached dully.

“I feel like crap,” I said honestly after a moment of reflection.

”And you should,” she replied, nodding. “You were in very rough shape when they found you, Ms. Woods. Four broken ribs, that hole in your shoulder, arms and back badly burned, and that mark on your cheek …”

She trailed off and I avoided the sudden scrutiny in her gaze, brushing self-consciously at the scar on my cheek with the fingers of one hand. _Here come the questions._

“How much do you remember of what happened?”

Not the question I’d expected, but it was one that gave me an escape from formulating complex lies to cover the real events that had occurred. I made an effort to make it seem as though I were sifting through hazed memories before I said haltingly and with regret, “Not much.”

The woman made a sympathetic noise and started unwinding the gauze from the arm she was closest to. “I’m not surprised. What do you remember of the explosion? The one that destroyed the cavern?”

I was thinking frantically. I knew that Max had been carrying explosives even though I’d protested him bringing them along. They were for emergencies, he told me in his cool and unperturbed manner, and that had been that. And the drilling equipment that had been shuttled into the cavern in case it was needed—it had certainly had volatile components. I doubted anyone on board the _Piper Maru_ knew exactly what we’d found on the island, and so I decided to take a shot in the dark.

“Something went wrong with the drilling machinery,” I said slowly, watching her expression. “There was a malfunction and then there was fire everywhere. We tried to get out of there …”

“How?” she asked softly, and I could hear the compassion in her tone.

“With the sled. But then there was an explosion. Everything started coming down. I got to the sled, but no one else did …”

My voice had begun to tremble as I remembered, vividly, what had transpired after my liberation from the ice tunnel. I was still terrified, even now, sitting here safe and secure on board this vessel. Misinterpreting my distress, the woman stopped unraveling the gauze and said soothingly, “It’s all right, don’t think about it anymore. You’re okay. You can talk about it when you’re ready.”

I nodded my thank. A silence fell between us both as she removed the last of the bandages from my arm. I stared at the exposed flesh in dismay. The skin was a mass of ridged, rivulet-like scars from both the alien claws and acidic blood. I wasn’t a doctor, but I was learned enough to know that those marks would be permanent.

“I’m afraid those will be with you the rest of your life,” the woman said softly, sympathetically, echoing my thoughts. I nodded again. She continued, “The scars on your back will be permanent too.”

I’d already figured as much. “As for your ribs, they’re coming along nicely, as is that hole in your shoulder. You’ll retain full use of your arm, too. We got to you before the wound had festered for too long. You’re going to be just fine.” She patted me on the leg before walking around the bed to unravel the gauze from my other arm, removing the IV first.

“Where are we?” I asked then, wanting to redirect my thoughts from the grim path they were beginning to venture down.

“We’re still anchored off the south coast of Bouvetoya.”

_Bouvetoya?_ “Why are we still here?” I demanded, trying and failing to suppress the panic in my voice. I wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from that island and everything that had happened on it.

“They’re trying to piece together what happened and recover anything salvageable.”

“Why?”

“Because Mr. Weyland left direct orders that in the event something like this should happen, Weyland Industries would make another attempt to enter the temple.”

“There’s nothing left of it,” I whispered.

“Then they’ll learn that the hard way,” she said, and there was a sudden edge to her voice. Whoever _they_ were, she clearly wasn’t pleased with them.

“Who are you?" I asked then, curious.

“Anamaria Benson, Ana for short. I’m an employee of Weyland Industries—field and medical technician, to be exact. Mr. Weyland saw fit to bring me along on this little adventure.”

I vaguely recalled having seen more of Weyland’s employees milling about when I’d first boarded the _Piper Maru_. It made sense that he’d bring an entire team along to further study the temple because he'd been anticipating a successful mission.

I asked, “How did they find me on Bouvetoya?”

“Mr. Weyland specified that after thirty-six hours of radio silence a rescue team was to be launched. They found you in the middle of the abandoned whaling station.”

“How long have I been here?”

“It’s been twelve days since they brought you on board.”

_Twelve days?_ “Why are we still here?” I asked again, incredulous. Surely they’d have realized after this amount of time that there remained nothing of interest on Bouvetoya …

“Like I said, this has become a salvage operation. Reed is hell bent on following his father’s last wishes.”

“Reed?”

“Yes, Reed Weyland. He couldn’t be troubled to accompany you all down to the temple, but now that his father is out of the way …” she let her words die off,  glancing up at me with an apologetic smile. “I’m rambling, and I’m sure you’re tired. Why don’t you—"

“I’m not tired,” I interrupted her. The last of the gauze came free of my arm. The scar tissue that marred my skin was just as bad as it had been on the other arm.

“Mmm. I guess you wouldn’t be, after twelve days of sleep. I suppose you'd like to get up and walk around?”

“Please.” I said.

“Okay.” She smiled again and took down the metal railing that lined the side of the bed. Mindful of my current state, she helped me hop down from the bed with gentle hands. Every muscle I had protested the movement, but I clamped my jaw together, determined to suffer in silence. When I was standing, albeit leaning against the bed, Ana considered me for a long moment.

“Your clothes are here,” she said, gesturing to a small cupboard behind her. “I’ll go wait outside while you get dressed.”

“Thank you,” I murmured. As she exited the room I hobbled over to the cupboard and withdrew the folded pile of my clothing. The only thing that remained from my initial journey where my long underwear and my thermal pants; the rest had, I assumed, been thrown out because of the holes burned, clawed, or sliced into them. There was underwear in the middle of the pile, white and utilitarian. I struggled out of the hospital gown I wore to don them awkwardly, trying not to snag the thick bandages I could feel covering my back. I opted to forego the long underwear as I didn’t plan on traipsing around outside, instead just opting for the pants. There were two shirts in the pile, a long sleeved turtleneck and a dark hooded sweatshirt, and I decided to wear them both. I had to sit down in order to put on the wool socks and when that was done I combed through the rest of my belongings that had been stored in the cupboard. There were matches, some first aid supplies, spare batteries, and the small penlight I always carried. It wasn’t until I’d turned to leave the room that I realized what else was missing. Inexplicably worried, I turned back and pawed through the objects again, but to no avail. The alien fang, the one Scar had given to me on a length of wire to wear around my neck, was gone.

I closed the cupboard before moving around the bed to the table where the weapon the predator elder had given me lay. I picked it up, examined it, and scouted the rest of the table for the fang. It was nowhere to be found. Frowning, I set the weapon back down before making my way to the door. Perhaps the fang had fallen from me during my rescue from Bouvetoya.

True to her word, Ana was waiting just outside. She turned as I came through the door, letting it close gently behind me. Examining my attire, she shook her head. “The shirts are big on you, sorry. It’s all I had.”

“They’re fine,” I said. She opened her mouth to say something more when a shrill ringing tore through the air around us. Swearing, she pulled her smartphone off a clip on her belt. Recognizing the number, her face contorted into a grimace. She looked back to me with an apologetic sigh.

“Reed has summoned me,” she said, and there was no disguising the contempt in her tone. “I’d offer to take you with me, but you don’t want to encounter him just yet. You really don’t.” She paused, biting down on her lip, contemplating. Finally she said, “Well, you’re somewhat familiar with the ship, aren’t you? Why don’t you just get a little exercise and meet me back here in an hour? Just promise me that you’ll take it easy.”

“All right,” I agreed. She flashed me another of her small, warm smiles before giving me a little wave and setting off at a brisk walk down the hallway. Alone suddenly, I remained where I was for a long moment, getting my thoughts in order, before heading off at a limping walk in the opposite direction.

**.x.**

My aimless wandering took me all over the place, from the mess hall that was empty to the engine rooms and back to the residential quarters. I saw several people but most were involved with some form of work and I decided it was wisest not to interrupt. The ship’s engines were silent and as I made my way through the mostly empty corridors the only sound was that of my footsteps. I had to stop repeatedly because I quickly grew out of breath and my body complained with every step I took. Eventually I found the stairs that led above deck and while climbing them was a painful affair I did it anyways. Stepping out into the ever-night of the arctic, the chill air was biting as I took a breath and crossed to the railing overlooking the ice-strewn sea. It took me a moment to realize I stood now where I had with Graeme and Sebastian the first night I’d arrived on board the _Piper Maru_. We’d been discussing the northern lights and Graeme’s children, and I had told them both not to go on Weyland’s insane crusade to Bouvetoya …

I smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile. I’d warned them against making the journey and then decided they stood a better chance for survival under my guidance. Tears needled hotly behind my eyes. They’d all died, each and every one of them, despite the fact that I'd decided to act as their guide …

“Hello?”

I whirled around, my heart in my throat, to find a little girl standing behind me. She was bundled up in defense against the cold and only her large dark eyes were visible in the space between her thick, furry hood and her long blue scarf. She walked forward to stand by me where I leaned against the railing and asked, “Who are you?”

“Alexa Woods,” I replied, quickly wiping the tell-tale moisture from my eyes and striving to make my voice even. “And who are you?”

“Cora Benson."

_Benson_ … “Is your mom Anamaria?” I asked.

Cora nodded, still facing the ice covered waters that surrounded us. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know they’d let children onboard,” I said, more to myself than to the child.

“They didn’t want to, but mom didn’t want to leave me behind. She said I’d like this trip.”

I heard the plaintive note in her voice. “And do you?”

She turned to me then, leaning against the metal railing. “It was fun at first. But then there was the accident, and now everybody’s sad and working all the time.”

I didn’t say anything, because I was fighting off a heavy tide of sorrow once again. The little girl watched me a moment longer before turning to stare again at the sea of ice. After a moment she asked, “You were in the accident, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Were you hurt bad?”

“Yes.”

A pause, and then, “You’re all better?”

A smile pulled at the sides of my reluctant mouth. “I’m getting better.”

Cora nodded and then asked, “Have you seen the monster?”

I stared hard at her, smile suddenly fading, and when I spoke my voice was low, terse. “What monster?”

She ignored my question. “Mr. Gerdol saw it first, and everyone made fun of him and said he drinks too much. I didn’t believe him either because he’s not a very nice man, and my mom doesn’t like him. But then …”

I swallowed thickly. “But then …?” I prompted almost silently.

She turned to regard me with solemn eyes. “I saw it too. Two nights ago. Down by where all the rooms are.”

“What—” My voice cracked, and I had to clear my throat before continuing, “What did it look like?”

She thought for a moment. “Like ... water, kind of. It was moving, but when it stood still I couldn't see it anymore … am I crazy?”

“No,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself in order to stave off a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

“Do you believe me?”

Her earnest tone made me close my eyes. “I think I do.”

“You won’t tell my mom, will you?”

“No.”

The sound of her gasping, followed by her frantic footsteps, made my eyes snap open again. She had bolted away from the railing and ran down the stairs I'd come from. I whirled around to shout after her when I saw something from the corner of my eye—

—the alien tooth dangling by its wire. It seemed as though it were floating some several feet away, but the longer I stared the more I could make out a definite shape behind it, a shimmering of air—

And then there was the sound, that deep and guttural growl that I'd hoped never to hear again.

I took one step toward the stairwell, and then another. A part of my mind was laughing with wild, horrified abandon, because the creeping sense of dread I'd felt was merited—the nightmare wasn’t over. The other part was afraid. As I reached the top of the stairs the growling intensified, and suddenly the shape I was so dreaded materialized out of the shadows, shaping itself into something corporeal.

It was Scar.

“ _How_ …?” I breathed. The last I'd seen of him, he’d had one of alien creatures clawing its way free of his chest. “Why are you here?” I whispered then, trying very hard to suppress my urge to turn heal and run headlong after Cora.

He fell silent, head tilted to the side in the manner I was so familiar with. After a moment he tossed the fang to me. I caught it by the length of its wire. I stared at it, so very confused, before raising my eyes to the hunter before me.

And found that two more had materialized behind him.

I almost leapt backwards, would have tottered and fell down the stairs had not I suddenly reached out with my arm to keep myself upright. The two predators behind Scar I had never seen before. They had the same marks on their masks as Scar—the same mark I now carried on my cheek—and all three of them wore similar armor. Bones, skulls, and other strange objects decorated their bodies, but one thing struck me in particular about the three of them: they carried no weapons that I could see.

I had opened my mouth to voice another question when abruptly the two new hunters vanished from view, their invisibility coating them like some sort of fluid. Scar remained where he was a moment longer before inclining his head to me with a rattling trill, turning and concealing himself from view. I strained my eyes to watch the shimmer of air that indicated his presence as it made its way further down the deck before being disappearing completely. By the time I remembered to breathe again, my entire body was trembling.

I uncurled my white knuckled fingers, staring down at the tooth in my palm. Fighting a surge of pure panic, I stared hard at it, trying to convince myself that what had happened wasn’t what I feared. There was no denying it, though—the predators were on the ship to observe, and I had the very unnerving impression they were observing me. Observing me, and obviously waiting.

Waiting for what, I didn’t know.

I didn’t want to know.

**.x.**


	2. Hult'ah

**.x.**

It was on numb, wobbly legs that I left the deck of the _Piper Maru_ and descended into the hold. At the bottom of the stairs my knees finally gave way and I lurched up against the wall. I rested there for long minutes, eyes closed and fingers unconsciously turning the alien tooth over and over in my hand. _Is it so much to ask_ , I beseeched of whatever higher power reigned over me, _that this nightmare be over_? _That I could forget all of this and go on to live a normal life?_ No answer came, of course, and so I shoved myself away from the wall and cast a quick, furtive glance back up the stairs. Nothing loomed at the top as I half-feared. I sighed then,  a sound of mingled weariness and desperation. I was torn between wanting to lock myself in some small cabin of the ship and the desire to search out the predators and demand to know why they were here. The insurmountable language barrier between us, however, made the second option impossible. And so I turned and began to make my way back into the depths of the ship, glancing behind me at intervals to ensure I wasn’t being stalked. The fact that my paranoia was this bad already was not a heartening indicator of what state I would be in as time progressed. The one thing I took solace in was that the hunters had no weapons on them. Though I couldn’t be certain, though I couldn't coherently explain why I felt this way, I was almost positive that they weren’t here to kill anyone. The implications of that led to the conclusion I’d arrived at previously, but because it focused mainly on me I had no wish to dwell on it.

I’d just rounded the corner and passed the mess hall when a small form darted out in front of me, startling me. It was Cora. She skidded to a halt in front of me and regarded me with wide, frightened eyes. Her hood was askew, revealing a head of curly, tousled red hair, and her scarf trailed over one shoulder and onto the floor.

“Did it hurt you?” she asked me breathlessly.

“No,” I said, kneeling painfully before her. I cast a swift look around to endure that the corridor we stood in was in fact empty. “I’m all right, Cora.”

She sniffled and ducked her head and I saw then the sheen of recent tears on her cheeks. “I’m sorry I ran away,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay. I should have ran, too.” For all the good it would have done.

“Why didn’t you?”

That was an excellent question and the fact that I didn’t have a plausible answer made me angry with myself. I rose stiffly to my feet and began to walk at a slow enough pace so that Cora could keep up. Perhaps prompted by my silence, Cora said hesitantly, “Alexa?”

I remained quiet, trying to formulate a response. She spoke again, her words lilted by apprehension. “You did see it, didn’t you? The monster? I’m not crazy!”

“I know you aren’t,” I replied quickly, stopping and turning to face her. Her eyes were brimming with new tears. I felt a new, ludicrous type of panic spill over me. I had faced ferocious, vile creatures from a different planet and survived, but when confronted with a child on the verge of tears I felt absolutely helpless. “Cora, I saw it too. You’re not crazy.”

She was sniffling again, obviously fighting not to cry. “Why didn’t it hurt you?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. I heard voices approaching from the corridor I had just left and said, not wanting to be seen, “Come with me, back to the infirmary. I’m supposed to meet your mother there.”

Cora’s gaze snapped back to me, eyes wide. “Are you going to tell my mom?”

“No,” I sighed impatiently. I could hear footsteps now along with the voices. “I won’t tell her anything. Please just come with me?”

She nodded her head, and as I stood and began to walk she caught hold of my hand. Though startled, I wrapped my fingers around her own. I wasn’t entirely comfortable around children. I never had been. Perhaps it was because I was an only child, or maybe the reason stemmed from the fact that I’d never in my life had a maternal instinct. Either way, children made me distinctly uncomfortable.

_But not_ _as uncomfortable as the knowledge that there are three hunters on board this ship, watching you, waiting …_

I scowled, silenced that insidious line of thought, and kept walking. Cora remained silent as if sensing my inner turmoil, but when finally I came to a halt and looked around me at the unfamiliar hallway in confusion, she spoke up.

“I know the way,” she said, letting her hand slide free of mine. “Follow me.”

She darted on ahead of me, glancing back, and so I hurried to keep up with her as best I could. My battered body wasn’t quite up to the task, and after several minutes of stopping repeatedly and waiting for me to limp to her side she slowed her pace considerably. True to her word, she did know the way, and when we rounded yet another corner to find her mother standing outside the infirmary door I was relieved.

“Cora?” Ana said, and then her eyes flicked to me, “And Ms. Woods?”

“I found her above deck,” Cora said.

Ana arched an eyebrow at me. “Wanted fresh air?”

I nodded, leaning gingerly against the wall and watching as Cora went forth to give her mom a hug. Ana knelt, smoothed back stray tendrils of her daughter’s hair and straightened the lopsided scarf. “Are either of you hungry?”

“Yes,” Cora replied instantly. After a moment, I nodded. I wasn’t really, but it was probably time I ingested something solid in light of the fact that I’d received all my nutrition for the last several days in liquid form.

“Good.” Ana straightened up, looking at me. “We’ll go to the mess hall. It’s still early, so there shouldn’t be that many people there. I expect you’d like to avoid all their questions for the time being?” I nodded again, because facing hordes of curious inquiries about my survival was something I’d rather not do at all, ever. Ana continued, “I thought so, but I should warn you—Reed wants to talk to you first thing tomorrow morning.”

Reed … Weyland’s son. Of course he’d want to talk to me. I had expected as much. “That’s fine.” I said.

“Cora, run ahead and get us a table, will you please?” Ana told her daughter, and Cora waved at us both before taking off down the hall. When she was out of sight Ana stepped closer to me and said in a low voice, “I’m going to give you a head’s up, Ms. Woods. Reed is nothing like his father. He’s arrogant, pretentious, and in my opinion he is the epitome of the perfect asshole. He’s going to want to know everything, even the things you can’t remember, and he’s not going to be nice about it.”

I closed my eyes wearily; I would be busy formulating lies and explanations all night, it seemed. Opening them again, I gave her a brief smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

She nodded, with a ghost of her own smile. “You’re welcome. Let’s go get some food.”

**.x.**

The mess hall I 'd already found on my own merit, as it wasn’t that far from the infirmary. As I stepped through the double doors behind Ana, I found that it was empty but for Cora and two men and all three were seated at the same table off to the side. It was a large room—I counted four rows of five tables each, and each metal table looked as though it seated eight people. Towards the back was the serving area, a cafeteria style counter with trays. Ana headed directly for her daughter and the unknown men, and feeling suddenly very nervous I followed.

“Ms. Woods,” Ana said as I slid slowly into the chair at the end of the table that was beside Cora, “This is Sam Thorne,” she pointed to a man with short dirty blonde hair and friendly blue eyes who smiled at me with a nod. “And this is Ray Gerdol.”

My gaze moved to the other man. He was older, with a touch of grey in his longish dark hair and his short cropped beard. His eyes, the same color of his hair, flicked to me as he uttered a brusque greeting before returning to the plate of food before him. I recognized his name a second later—this  was the man, according to Cora, that had seen the "monsters".

“You look much better, Ms. Woods,” Sam said, poking halfheartedly at his own meal with his fork. It was his voice that clued me into the fact that I had in fact seen him before—he was the man that had been with Ana when I’d first come aboard the _Piper Maru._ “How do you feel?”

“Terrible,” I said honestly.

Sam grinned. “I’d be worried if you didn’t.”

Ana, who had left briefly, returned with two trays of something that looked like vegetable stew. She set one down in front of me. “Doesn’t look like much, but it tastes fine.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the fork she handed me. As she sat down on the other side of Cora I began to eat,and found that it was, like she had said, palatable.

“Have you talked to Reed yet, Ms. Woods?” Sam asked around a mouthful of food.

“She hasn’t,” Ana answered for me, and her voice was firm. “And she won’t be answering any questions tonight either.”

Sam held up his hands in mock surrender. “Ok, ok. I wasn’t going to ask anyways.”

“Reed’ll make you wish you were back on the island,” muttered Ray Gerdol, eyes not leaving his plate. His voice was heavy with a definite accent—German, I guessed.

“He’s right,” Sam said sympathetically.

Ana interrupted then, making a pointed effort to steer the conversation away from where it had been headed. She and Sam spoke about the salvage operations and from time to time Ray would insert some sort of disparaging remark. I watched him carefully, the way his gaze would upon occasion dart back and forth, as though searching for something. I knew just what he was looking for. Cora began a conversation with Sam about penguins and I could tell by the tone he used with the child that he was fond of her.

Finished with my meal, I pushed my plate away and listened for a moment to the idle chatter surrounding me. I was starting to feel drowsy and every part of me was aching in harmony. I opened my mouth to ask Ana where I would be sleeping when I saw behind Ray something fluidic, something _moving_ —

I was on my feet so quickly that my chair clattered to the floor behind me. Everyone fell silent, staring at me, and I fought to tear my eyes from what lurked there. I began to stammer an apology. “I-I’m sorry. I … I’m not feeling well …”

“We’ll get you back to the infirmary,” Ana said immediately, clearly concerned. I made a pointed effort to look anywhere but at what had frightened me so and for a moment my eyes were met and held by Ray’s. I saw in them a speculative and apprehensive gleam. He was wondering what I'd seen to have affected me in such a manner, and a moment later he swiveled around in his chair to observe for himself.

The cloaked hunter had moved on—to where, I didn’t know, but all that was there now was the plain, unadorned white wall of the cafeteria.

“I hope you feel better tomorrow,” Sam was saying, waving to me as Ana ushered me towards the door while simultaneously telling Cora to stay put and finish her meal. I let Ana pull me down the hallways, telling me she’d give me something for the pain, and that after another good sleep I’d feel better. I wasn’t really listening. My eyes moved frantically from side to side, trying to discern shadows from shadows and light from light. Once we were inside the infirmary Ana pushed me toward the bed, and without resistance I climbed into it and sank back against the pillows. My gaze was fixated on the closed door, waiting for it to fly open, for it to emit one of the hunters.

A pinprick of pain jerked my attention around to see Ana emptying the contents of a syringe into my arm. Alarmed, I asked her, “What is that?”

“A sedative,” she told me, removing the needle and daubing at the blood left behind with a cotton ball. “To help you sleep.”

_No!_ I couldn’t sleep, I had to stay awake! I couldn’t voice this, of course, because then she’d want to know why. Dismayed, I watched as she pulled the blankets up over me, saying, “I shouldn’t have let you wander around today. You need more rest.”

“Stay with me?” I asked her desperately, feeling the first beckoning tendrils of whatever it was she'd given me.

She smiled warmly. “Of course, until you fall asleep.”

_And after_ , I wanted to say, but I couldn’t. My eyelids grew unbearably heavy, and I slowly fell back against the pillows. She was saying something else, taking my hand in her own, but the words were lost to me. Though I struggled to remain awake, remain alert, it was for naught; seconds later my eyes drifted close, and then I was firmly in the grasp of sleep unwanted.

**xXx**

My slumber wasn't peaceful. Wraiths rose from the depthless chasm of my memories, snaking themselves around me and dragging me relentlessly down, down, into a place I knew I didn’t want to go. How long I struggled with nightmares, I don’t know, but I was tugged from my troubled slumber by the sound of a child’s voice saying my name again and again.

“Alexa?”

My eyes fluttered open to find a familiar and fierce masked visage peering down from directly above my own, thick tresses falling like a curtain all around me. Startled, disconcerted, I screamed and leapt from the bed. Scar reared back in turn with a snarl. My dreamtime thrashing had wound the sheets around my legs; two steps was all I managed before I stumbled and toppled to the floor. Twisting around awkwardly so I was facing my unwelcome visitor, I scuttled backwards until I felt the wall against my back.

Scar remained where he was, head cocked to one side as he observed my ungainly flight. It wasn’t long before I heard the telltale gravelly trill of his laughter. Willing my heart to sink from where it was lodged in my throat to where it belonged, I clutched the sheet that bound me and glared at the hunter.

“ _Don’t do that!”_ I snapped when I finally located my voice. My pulse was thundering so fast I could barely hear for the roar in my ears. The adrenaline racing through my veins made me more angry than afraid, but I was still distantly aware that fear was the most appropriate emotion at this point. For a long moment we merely regarded each other, I huddled in the far corner, he looming incongruously near the bed. The urge to strike him over the head with something heavy and sharp had manifested itself and was growing. 

“Why are you here?” I demanded, struggling free of the sheet and climbing to my feet. Scar ignored me, turning to examine the medical paraphernalia laid out on the counter to the right of my bed. _How dare he?_ How dare he and his people come aboard this ship and haunt me like giant murderous ghosts? How dare he intrude on my solitude and frighten me half to death? Furious, terrified and on the verge of tears I fumbled with my hand to find something on the counter next to me, anything, that I could throw. My fingers closed on something heavy, something cool, and without thinking I hurled it with all my might at the hunter. It struck him on the back of his shoulder and shattered. It was a bottle of some sort of fluid, I realized as it dripped in clear rivulets down his armor and onto his mottled skin.

If I’d wanted his attention, I most definitely had it now. He spun around with an unpleasant growl and began to approach me with deliberate menacing steps. I was reminded very suddenly of the first time I’d ever encountered him. I stood my ground, though I wanted nothing more than to bolt through the door and run screaming through the ship. He didn’t stop until there was less than an inch separating us.

It's funny how one's bravado will flee when face to face with a towering eight foot humanoid from another planet. Swallowing the whimper that was crawling its way out of my throat, I said once more in an unsteady voice, “Why are you here?” _Why won’t you disappear like the nightmare you belong to? Why won’t you leave me alone?_ All the things I wanted to demand of him, all the things I _needed_ to know where reverberating through my mind. I wouldn’t get an answer to them anyways; pointing and grunting was a very limited method of communication.

My question, though I had no idea whether or not he understood it, seemed to dissipate his ire. The angry noise he’d been making faded away. “Monster,” he said then with my own voice, raising one closed fist and holding it to his chest. He raised the other hand and settled it on my uninjured shoulder, sounding like Cora this time. “Alexa.”

“Lex,” I corrected irritably. I had no inkling whatsoever what he was trying to tell me and it only made me more frustrated. I stared stubbornly at the small skulls that hung across his chest and mentally willed him to fade into nothingness. He growled impatiently, removed his hand from my shoulder and instead used it to cuff me lightly under the chin.

“What do you want?” I demanded, knocking his hand away and slipping past him. I made my way back to the bed and hopped onto it, wincing as the movement pulled at my tender back and sides. I wasn’t really afraid any longer, but I was agitated because I didn’t know what his purpose—and that of the two others of his kind onboard—was. He followed me after a second later, padding heavily across the floor. I watched him with a scowl, but when he reached out to run a rough finger over the scars on my cheek I didn’t stop him. He pointed then to his own similar mark and said, “Monster,” before indicating again my marks and saying—in Sebastian’s voice this time—“Lex.”

I stared into the mirror-like visor of his mask as I tried to piece together what he was telling me. He repeated the gestures and words several more times, and finally, with an exasperated snarl, he caught my hand, held it up, and covered it with his own. My eyes moved then to the way my fingers were lost in his and comprehension abruptly dawned.

“We’re tied together through the marks,” I said slowly, removing my hand. A second later the implications of what I’d said hit me, and I shook my head abruptly. “Wait a minute! Is this why you’re here? Because you’re some sort of … _blood brother_ to me?”

My voice had become rather shrill towards the end of my sentence, a sure sign that I was highly aggravated. Apparently satisfied that I understood, Scar stepped back, bowing his head and rumbling.

“Oh no. Nonononono _NO!”_ I was frantically shaking my head. “Look, whatever _these_ ,” I pointed to my cheek, “mean, I don’t understand. I really don’t, and I don’t think I want to. Everything is over, I’m safe now, you can’t just expect …”

I trailed off, because I wasn’t exactly sure _what_ he expected. He’d remained silent throughout my rambling, but as my voice died he lifted one arm to tug on the alien tooth I’d hung again around my neck with an appreciative growl. I groaned inwardly. This was like talking to a newborn baby, except this baby only seemed to value bones, violence and battle wounds. He turned then, and made his way to the door of the infirmary. Halting there, he said using Ana’s voice, “Sleep.”

Sleep? _Sleep?_ After informing me that he and I were bound through the hellish trials we’d endured, after scaring the wits out of me, after invading my privacy and watching me while I was in repose, he wanted me to sleep? I stared at him, incredulous, and an instant later he became one with the air. I watched as the door opened and closed, and quite suddenly I was left alone.

I settled back against the pillows after long minutes, forsaking the sheet that still lay on the floor. I was wide awake now and no amount of sedative was going to change that. I tried to sift through all that had just happened in order to reach some sort of conclusion that made any sort of sense, and when I finally did I sat bolt upright again.

Scar had told me to sleep and sleep was a method of healing. He and the others weren’t here to harm anyone, I was fairly certain, but they were here to observe, and they were observing me …

“Oh, _no_ ,” I whispered, feeling a bitter chill creep over me.

They were waiting for me to heal. They were waiting for me to regain my strength. Whatever this … _bond …_ I had with Scar was, it required me to be healthy.

That in itself, I realized numbly, was not a good thing. And the bond … were we hunting partners, now? Allies through our victory? And then another option occurred to me and I felt my heart leap into my throat once again. Obviously Scar considered me an equal, but had there grown from that respect a certain affection, a fondness for me? Was that what our bond was now? I felt suddenly very dizzy, and so I let myself fall back against the bed as dread and apprehension washed over me.

Things had been so much simpler before I had known that there was life beyond Earth.

**.x.**


	3. Mei'hswei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I actually completed this fic in 2005. It's been posted on Fanfiction.net since then. I didn't discover AO3 until a couple of years ago and I didn't want to post this here until I'd done a complete rewrite. In 2005 I had a tendency to overuse semicolons. Like, seriously abuse them. It was NOT good, and I wanted to make sure that the version I posted here was a good one.
> 
> I've gotten a lot of feedback from people over the months since I posted this and I want to say to all of you: thank you so much. It's been eleven years since I wrote this and it still amazes me sometimes that A) I was able to write it at all and B) people liked it. At the time when I was writing it, AVP was a relatively small fandom. It's grown since then, and while I don't write for it anymore (which isn't to say that I never will again!), it will always be one of my favorites.
> 
> I've decided to get my ass in gear and post the entire rewritten story here. To anyone interested, I have several more AVP fics posted on FFN (same title, same author name), that I also plan to move here at some point. 
> 
> Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy!

**.x.  **

I found sleep somehow. The chaotic, turbulent mass of my thoughts eventually succumbed to both weariness and the hint of the sedative still flowing in my veins. It was a knocking at the door that jolted me out of my slumber. Sitting up, startled, I stared around confused before I realized what the sound was. Recollections of the night previous, of my short and intensely frustrating meeting with Scar, came rushing back to me and I fell back against the pillow with a groan.

“Come in,” I called hoarsely as the knocking continued. I watched through eyes that felt gritty and heavy as the door swung open silently to admit Ana. She stepped into the room and stopped when she saw the sheet lying in a twisted heap on the floor. From there her eyes moved to the remains of the shattered glass bottle I had thrown in my fury and the puddles of clear liquid on the floor. I inwardly grimaced. I’d been so perturbed by my revelations the night previous that I’d forgotten the mess. Ana merely arched an eyebrow at me before stooping to pick up the blanket. Bringing it over to the bed, she asked simply, “Rough night?”

“I don’t remember,” I lied, letting my arm fall across my face to shield my eyes from the harsh glare of the overhead lights as Ana flicked the switch. I felt groggy, and there was a mild throbbing ache reverberating in my head. It was a slight pain now, but it held the distinct threat of erupting into something more potent. I heard the telltale whisk of a broom and the tinkle of glass shards. Ana was cleaning up after me. I sighed and struggled into a sitting position, feeling the tightness of the burns on my back and the stiffness in my side. “I’m sorry for that,” I said, watching as Ana carried a dustpan over to the garbage near the door and emptied it.

“It’s alright. I’ve seen it before. People who have been traumatized will sleepwalk or lash out even after being given a sedative.”

_ Traumatized. _ That was a good way of putting it.

“Anyway, I figured you might like a bath. We cleaned you up when you were brought in, but I think your wounds are healed enough now for full submersion. Sound good?”

It did. It sounded very good. Where the bandages covered my skin I was itchy, and my hair, bound back as it was, was a complete and total mess. “Yes,” I replied.

Returning the broom and the dustpan to the corner from whence they came, Ana nodded. “I figured it would. There’s a bathroom right across the hall for infirmary use. Do you think you’ll need any help?”

“No,” I said. “Except to get the gauze off my back.”

“I’ll help you with that here. Turn around.”

I obeyed, turning and lifting the hem of my shirts up until they rode under my arms. With gentle hands Ana peeled the bandages from my skin, and while she was careful there were occasions that I would suck my breath in sharply, wincing. When she patted me on the shoulder I let the shirts fall back.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” Ana said as I turned back around. “Except for the scarring …”

She trailed off, and I shrugged. I wasn’t pleased about numerous scars I’d accumulated in the last couple weeks, but at least I wasn’t dead, and therefore I wouldn’t complain.

“Everything is over there already, so you’re all set. I’ll be back in a half hour, because that’s when Reed wants to talk to you.”

My gut tightened at the name. I'd forgotten that today was the day I’d be answering everyone’s questions about how I’d survived. Perhaps my unease had showed on my face, for Ana gave me a quick smile of support. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I won’t leave you alone with him. Now go have your bath.”

She left me then, and after a moment I trailed warily after her out into the hall. Before pushing through the door into the bathroom I cast a furtive, searching glance all around me. Invisible blood brothers are all good and fun, but in light of my latest suspicions, I wasn’t going to take a chance of being observed while bathing. Satisfied, I slipped through the door and swiftly pushed it shut, sliding the deadbolt home. I turned to survey the surroundings—large metal tub, toilet, full length mirror, and a décor plain enough to rival any hospital. I crossed the floor to the tub and played with the faucets until I got a steady stream of hot water, and while I waited for it to fill I perched myself on the edge and warily eyed the rest of the room, searching for unwanted visitors.

This was so going to be the fastest bath in history.

**.x. **

Roughly twenty minutes later—washed, dried and fully outfitted—I was standing outside the infirmary, waiting for Ana to return. I’d pulled my hair—which had taken about three quarters of my total bathing time to untangle and wash—back into a tail at the nape of my neck. I hadn’t done a decent job of drying it and it was dripping in an uncomfortably cold manner down my back. I felt much better now that I was clean. Using the mirror, I’d taken a very quick look at the expanse of my back, and it hadn’t been a pleasant thing to look at. Like my arms, the length of my spine was a mass of rivulet-like scars, carved into my skin by the acid blood of the alien … I’d quickly donned my shirts again, not wanting to stare any longer at the brutal reminder of my recent trials.

Ana arrived soon after my leaving the bathroom. As she approached she asked wryly, “Done already? Afraid someone was going to burst in on you?”

_ You have no idea _ , I wanted to say, but instead flashed a quick smile. “Are you ready to meet Reed?” She asked me then.

“Sure,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel. Nervousness had taken up residence within me, and my stomach roiled. What on earth was I going to tell them? I had a few abstract ideas, but what if they didn’t believe me? What if they’d found something during the salvage operation? How could I make them believe that it had been an accidental explosion that had killed everyone rather than the predators or their prey?

“This way,” Ana said, and so I followed her. She led me through the residential deck and up a staircase, and then down several long halls. Like the duration of my previous excursion, there was hardly anyone loitering about to be encountered. We halted in front of a set of metal double doors. Looking to the left I could see we were outside the bridge of the _Piper Maru_. Ana cast me a brief, supportive glance before pushing the door open, and with a deep breath I followed her in.

The room was, I discovered, some sort of briefing area. There was a large oval table in the center with many chairs on either side. The floor was carpeted, and the walls were an unadorned white wash; a large window, overlooking the ice-capped ocean that glowed even in the night, was situated to the left of the entrance. As Ana stepped aside, saying my name, I found myself facing a person who could only be Reed Weyland seated at the head of the table.

I saw the family resemblance almost immediately – close-set dark eyes that were both piercing and hooded regarded me as he leaned back totally at ease in his chair. His hair was black, grown long in the style that was popular for younger men and framing his face in thin layers. His features were angular, sharp, but intuition told me it wasn’t just his appearance that lent him the predatory air. My suspicion proved to be correct when he stood and approached with a languid yet determined stride.

“Ms. Woods,” He said, and his voice was utterly devoid of emotion. He’d halted only a few inches from me, and when he continued the ghost of a mirthless smile flickered about his mouth. “Glad to see you’re well enough to finally meet with me.”

Nothing veiled about his opinion of me; it was blatant in his tone. This was a man, I sensed, well suited to running such a monstrous company like Weyland Industries: ruthless, cunning, and determined. Bristling, I said with a perfunctory nod, “Mr. Weyland.”

“Reed, please,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. He returned to his chair and sank down into it, steepling his fingers together over his chest. With a falsely solicitous tone, he said, "I hope you don't mind that I have some questions about just what happened down there."

“Not at all,” I replied a trifle coolly. _Relax, Lex_ , I told myself _. It’s only going to get worse._ Ana discreetly indicated a chair, and with a small nod in her direction I stepped forward and took a seat. She remained standing, a silent guardian behind me, and I was suddenly distinctly grateful for her presence.

He glanced down at a sheaf of papers on his desk—a medical report, it looked like—and back up at me. "It seems you took a beating. Broken bones, dozens of flesh wounds, scrapes, cuts ..." he trailed off and flipped idly through a few pages. "Mostly the kinds of injuries that one might sustain from a cave-in." His gaze flickered to my face, to the side where Scar had marked me. "Though I'm curious. How, exactly, does one acquire an acid burn in a place like this?"

“The biochemical expert—Graeme Miller—requested certain chemicals be brought along. He was going to use different acids to try and determine the age of the stone the pyramid was made from.” I paused here, frantically thinking. To this point, what I’d said was absolutely true. Graeme had indeed made such a request our first night on board the _Piper Maru._ I continued, meeting Reed’s eyes directly and willing him silently to believe me, “When the drilling equipment caught fire, I was running for the sled. All the equipment brought down was sitting there … and then everything exploded. I remembered the pain on my back …” I trailed off, frowning as though in concentration.

He didn't seem to completely buy my story, eyes still on my mark, but he moved on. "And you seem to have found some interesting relics down there."

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement, and I knew then he’d seen the spear that had been given to me by the predator elder. “Yes,” I said, nodding. “Max found it inside the cavern, not far from where the ice tunnel ended. He gave it to me to examine.”

"Interesting. It looks almost new." Closing the file with a sigh, he sat back again and rubbed his eyes. "Ms. Woods, honestly, what happened down there? You went down with a team of thirteen people and came back alone. You were down there for quite a while; what did you find? What happened to my father?"

The last question wasn't spoken in any different manner than the previous ones; it was only one of many things he wanted to know. Did he care about his own father's death, or was it merely a cipher, another piece of the puzzle he wanted to solve? He knew I was the final piece, or at least could provide it, and if the result was anything he could exploit, then exploit it he would. I had no doubt that he would.

“Your father died in the explosion.” I said bluntly. “Just like everyone else.” I may not have liked Charles Bishop Weyland, but he deserved more than this cold and clinical curiosity. Reed’s eyebrows rose into his hairline, but I continued, my voice hard. I was still apprehensive, yes, but I was starting to get angry because this was nothing more than an interrogation, as if I was some sort of criminal. “It took us fifteen hours to drill to the cavern, and another five to get all the equipment down there. The rest of the time was spent exploring the exterior of the pyramid and setting up base camp. I can’t pretend to know what went wrong with the drilling equipment, but I’m not going to lie and say I’m not grateful for the fact that I survived. Sad that I’m the only one to have done so, yes, but I can’t change that. Why does it seem you’re implying that I’ve done something wrong?”

Without realizing it, we both had risen as I spoke. My voice had increased in volume, and I tore my eyes from his, focusing instead on the lacquered surface of the table and making a forcible effort to calm myself. A moment later I returned my gaze to his own; we now faced each other over his desk, both of our hands flat on the surface. I had fought aliens, been burned and sliced and shot at. No way could I let one man walk on me. I hadn't fought my ass off to get out with my life only to be intimidated by someone to whom I owed nothing. We ignored Ana's small sound of warning behind us, neither of us willing to retreat. Then he did something that made me almost wish I'd never looked back up at him.

His lips twisted into a terrible, knowing smile, and he lightly touched the mark on my cheek. "This interview is over, Ms. Woods, but I look forward to speaking with you again. Later," he added, and I knew he knew more than he'd let on. _Damn._

As his fingers left my face, slowly and meaningfully, a low rumbling filled the room. Over Reed’s shoulder I saw the air shimmer, saw the outline of something large moving with a predatory stealth in front of the window. The scenery revealed by the glass was distorted momentarily, rippling as though underwater. The growling, low, continuous and distinctly threatening, prompted Ana to step forward, looking about curiously. With great force of will I wrenched my eyes from the lurking hunter and dragged them back to Reed.

He hadn’t turned to see the source of the sound. Instead his gaze was on me, and there was a fiercely speculative gleam in the dark depths of his eyes. Schooling my face into what I hoped was an impassionate mask, I straightened away from Reed. The growling noise died as I did so, but I didn’t look back to see what my invisible guardian was doing. Instead I nodded briefly at Reed and turned to Ana. The glare she was currently unleashing on Reed was ferocious. I turned and made my way to the door, and she trailed after me. I paused with my fingers around the door handle, half turning.

“Did you know,” I asked softly, “that your father was dying? That his cancer had progressed to the point he had to breathe air from a bottle every hour just to walk around?”

The blood drained very suddenly from Reed’s face and he reared back as though he’d been struck. He’d had no idea, then, hadn’t even known his father was sick. Vindictive satisfaction filled me at the sight of his obvious shock, and I turned and let myself out of the room. As Ana followed Reed’s strained voice rang out, “Benson! I have something to discuss with you.”

Ana sighed audibly before looking at me. “I’ll meet you at the infirmary when I’m done here.” She whirled to re-enter the room but paused before glancing back at me and saying in a whisper, “Listen, I’m sorry about him … he’s such an asshole.”

“It’s alright,” I said, with a brief smile. She nodded and disappeared inside the room, leaving me alone in the hallway. I wasted no time in leaving; my quick limp carried me down the hall. Whichever hunter was in the briefing room—intuition told me it was Scar—was going to have to remain there until Reed and Ana left because I’d seen no other exit. That meant that the more distance I put between me and that room, the better. I reached the stairs and made my way down them, clutching the railing for support; I’d just stepped off the last one when again, a chittering growl reached my ears.

I froze, hand dropping slowly away from the railing. I’d just begun my search for the concealed hunter when he abruptly appeared before me, shaping himself out of the air. To my credit, I didn’t leap backwards, but I wanted to when I realized it wasn’t Scar. This was one of the others I’d seen the day previous, but that didn’t make me any less nervous. In fact, it made me more so. His mask, like Celtic’s had been, was distinctly unique. It was more linear than Scar’s, more angular, and there were three deep grooves that bisected the face—claw marks? As I began to edge back up the stairs, the predator held both hands out, palm up, and said in a tinny male voice that obviously wasn’t his own, “Wait.”

I halted, balling my hands into fists in apprehension. The hunter took one step forward. Standing as I was on the third stair, we were now at an even height. He tilted his head slightly and his hair, shorter than Scar’s, rattled with the movement. When he lifted one clawed hand towards my face, however, I retreated back up another two stairs.

“Wait,” said the hunter again, and then continued in the same voice, “Curious.”

Oh. Feeling somewhat sheepish, I descended again, and when his hand rose again I didn’t flinch. He ran his thumb over my facial scar just once before fisting said hand and thumping himself on the chest. By now familiar with that gesture, I nodded my head and knew he had just acknowledged me as a warrior, that this was a sign of respect. I found this to be slightly odd; Celtic had, after all, hated me. The predator elder, however, hadn’t seemed to despise my existence …

I was mulling this over in my mind when the hunter before me chittered, pulling at my attention. He picked up the tooth that lay against my collarbone between two fingers, twisting it back and forth and peering at it. Aware of how incongruous this scene would appear to anyone passing by, I smothered a quick grin and studied my newfound “friend” in turn. His armor, upon inspection, was different from that of Scar’s—it was shaped in the form of scales upon scales, like the skin of a dragon from myth. And just like that, I had a name for him: Scale. Unoriginal, yes, but it was a defining characteristic of his person and as such would serve the purpose it was meant for.

Scale let the tooth fall and stepped back, grumbling all the while. I made my way down the last two steps, eyeing him carefully. He seemed friendly—as friendly as his race could be—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try and crush my skull or something. He didn’t, and as I reached his side he bowed his head to me once more before turning his back to me and cloaking again. I watched as his watery clear form made its way down the corridor on the left, pondering what had just happened and frowning absently while doing it.

It was too soon to be certain, but it seemed as though I’d just gained myself an ally.

**.x. ** __


	4. D'tai k-de

**.x.**

I made my way back to the infirmary, becoming only slightly lost along the way. Pushing open the door to the infirmary I found Ana already inside. she stood at the counter and was opening and shutting the cupboard doors with enough force to let me know she was furious. She didn’t hear the door close behind me and I hesitantly cleared my throat to catch her attention. She whirled around, a terrible scowl on her face, but seeing me her expression softened somewhat.

“Ms. Woods.”

“Lex,” I corrected, crossing the floor to hop up onto the bed facing her. “Is everything alright?”

“No.” She said fiercely, slamming another cupboard door shut. “I can’t believe—ooooh, he’s such a— _goddamnit!”_

Her voice had risen into a shout with the last word, and as she spun around I watched her with wide eyes. Seeing my expression, she said, “Reed thinks you’re lying, but you already knew that. He criticized my care of you, insulted my daughter, and wants me to follow you everywhere and give you the third degree. If I ever get off this ship, I quit my job. I am not working for him. His father was twice the man he is.”

I agreed with her on that. She continued after a moment, in a softer tone this time, “Is it true, what you said to him? That Charles was dying?”

“Yes. I caught him in one of the snow-crawlers breathing from on oxygen bottle. He admitted it to me when I told him he shouldn’t come along.”

“But he went anyways,” Ana sighed. “Old fool.”

A silence fell between us then, until Ana turned back to the counter and began cleaning the mess she’d made in her fury. “Some of the sedative syringes are missing. Now we have people stealing medical supplies. Reed will love this.” Moving away from the counter and towards the door she said, “You’ll be given your own quarters to sleep in tonight. I’ll show you where they are now, if you want.”

“Okay,” I said, sliding down from the bed and following her.

**.x.**

Evening found me once again in the mess hall, seated at a table again with Cora, Ana, Sam Thorne and Ray Gerdol. It was considerably more crowded this time as the salvage team had returned for the day. I caught sight of Reed entering as I finished my meal. Seeing me, he merely nodded before crossing the room and leaving my sight. Sam and Ray were arguing. Ray, I noticed, was halfway through a bottle of beer, and two empty ones stood next to his plate. I didn’t pay attention to their discussion because I was far too busy scouting the room for what I knew was there but couldn’t see. I felt like a child with an invisible friend, except that there were three and they were incredibly violent. _Wouldn’t it be lovely_ , I thought idly to myself, _if that’s all they really were?_ _Figments of my imagination?_ My wishful thinking evaporated when I saw Gerdol’s eyes flick to my cheek, to my marks, and then quickly away. I sighed. There was nothing imaginary about my situation.

After dinner everyone drifted their separate ways. Ana decided her daughter was in need of medication in light of the fact she’d recently caught cold. At this, Cora protested vehemently, claiming her sniffles were only because she’d been crying all day, but her mother firmly vetoed her protests. I followed them out of the mess hall and left them, making my way to the infirmary. I wanted fresh air, and I wanted to find Scar in order to try and obtain more information from him about our new … status. I had resolutely squelched all ideas that pertained to the fact that perhaps he may be somewhat fond of me, because thinking about it made me distinctly perturbed.

Once in the infirmary, I donned the thick jacket and the lined gloves that had been left for me and headed out again. Once I’d climbed the stairs to the open deck I pulled my hood up around my head and breathed deep the crisp, icy air. As I exhaled a cloud of vapor rose up, momentarily obscuring my vision. I moved to the railing, propping my elbows on it and peering overboard to stare at the dark waters in which large pieces of polar ice floated. From there my eyes rose skyward, to find that the night was ablaze with the intricate, irregular dance of the _aurora australis._ Countless times in my past I’d stood outside and watched the phenomenon, marveled at the way the colors blazed and faded, and never did I lose my fascination. I’d confessed to Graeme and Sebastian my love of this snowy landscape, of this harsh climate, and I found that even after the nightmare I’d so recently lived through I loved it all the same.

I heard a sound behind me, a footstep made deliberately heavy. Expecting one of the hunters, I craned my head around only to find Ray Gerdol standing at the head of the stairs, dressed in layers as I was, breath rising as fog from his mouth.

“Hello,” I said, a little confused as to why he’d be up there. He gave me a brief nod, and shrugging I turned back to the scenery before me.

He stepped up beside me a little while later, maintaining a distance and leaning against the railing on his forearms. His eyes, like mine had been, were focused on the brilliant spectacle above us, and I thought then that perhaps he was here to enjoy the view. I was proven wrong, however, as he opened his mouth and began to speak without removing his gaze from the sky.

“You’ve seen them.” It wasn’t a question—it was a statement, and it was uttered in a flat monotone rendered even more so by his heavy accent.

My heart dropped. I should have known. I should have seen this coming. To anyone who hadn’t seen the hunters, my earlier behavior was easily explained. To those that had, however … Keeping my own voice even, I asked with as much casual innocence I could muster. “Seen who?”

“You know who,” his tone had altered, become hard, and he turned his head to regard me. “I watched the way your eyes kept moving around during dinner. You were looking for something. You saw it the other night, too. That’s why you were so frightened.”

I swallowed thickly. There was a fever gleam in his eyes, and I had a sneaking suspicion he was drunk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He spat something at me in his native tongue before taking the three steps he needed to be directly beside me. I turned away from the railing to face him and managed not to back away as he lowered his head to within an inch of mine. When he spoke next, his words were grated, “You lie.”

On his breath I could smell the alcohol, pungent and overwhelming, confirming my fears. “You’re drunk.”

Gerdol chuckled unpleasantly as an acknowledgement of what I’d said. “I know you’ve seen them. Why do you lie? Do you know what they are?”

That was a loaded question. Did I know what they were? Oh yes. Did I want to know? Not really. “You’re drunk, and you’re not making any sense,” I said then. “I’m leaving now.”

He shook his head, and as I made to step around him he shifted, blocking me. Apprehension flared within me. He was drunk and he was terrified of what he had seen, and that made him dangerous.

 “Move.” I said.

He didn’t comply, not that I’d honestly expected him to. One of his gloved hands rose, and though I twisted my head aside his fingers found the mark on my cheek nonetheless. “And this, what is this? No random burn …”

“Get away from me,” I said with a calm I didn’t feel.

“You hide something,” He said suddenly, catching my chin in his fingers and turning my face back to his. “What is it you’re so reluctant to tell?”

I said nothing, and his grip tightened to the point of pain. That was it, I’d had it, and so I brought my right arm up in a swift arc. My fist connected with his jaw— _hard—_ and his head snapped back, hand falling away. I raised my uninjured leg and stomped down with all the force I could muster on his shin. Snarling incomprehensibly in his language he staggered away. I watched him retreat, breathing fast and I knew with cold certainty that if he hadn’t been drunk this encounter would have gone much different.

“Get out of here,” I said coldly. The knuckles of my hand ached something fierce from the punch I’d landed, and I flexed my fingers in an attempt to alleviate the pain.

He glared at me with such venom that I could almost feel it before spitting in my direction and lurching to the stairs. When he was out of sight, I allowed myself a trembling sigh of relief before sagging back against the railing. In the last week of my life I’d fought off aliens, predators, and one drunken German man. Impressive …

When Scar suddenly materialized off to the side, I didn’t even jump. I had guessed he might be somewhere nearby. I merely nodded in his direction and watched to see if Scale or the other, unnamed hunter would make an appearance. Neither of them did, and I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved that I would only be dealing with Scar or not. Growling, he thumped his chest—congratulating me on my pathetic victory over Gerdol? I smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was the smile of someone becoming jaded and resigned over the fact her life was swiftly unraveling.

“You know,” I said bitterly, watching as he crossed to the railing to stand next to me, “that this is all your fault?”

He gave a short grumble, tilting his head and lifting his mottled, clawed finger to touch the scar that decorated my cheek. I was really becoming tired of all the attention it was drawing; having your face constantly pawed at by strange creatures and people alike wasn’t as much fun as it sounded. I didn’t pull back at this touch, and on some distant level this worried me, because I would have once upon a time.

“If it wasn’t for you,” I continued, “I wouldn’t have had to do that.”

He’d begun producing his throaty trill; he was tugging now on the edge of my hood and was either completely ignoring my words or else not comprehending them. Annoyed, I swatted his arm away and stalked around him to lean on the railing on the other side of his bulk. I stared morosely into the water and wondered what would happen if I tried to push him overboard. He’d made a rude noise as I’d left, and as he neared again he rapped me on top of the head with one fist. Familiar by now with this reprimanding gesture, I found myself shaking my head and smiling. Abruptly my smile faded, and I became mortified as I realized I didn’t actually hate Scar. I had come at some point to regard him as a companion. He was large, yes, and astonishingly violent, but he _had_ saved my life repeatedly …

“This isn’t right,” I muttered, pushing away from the railing and backing several steps. Scar didn’t follow, merely cocked his head and grumbled something inquisitive at me.

Exasperated, disturbed by my revelation, I said a little wildly, “You’re—I don’t even know what you are! You tried to _kill_ me! And here we are like we’re the best of psychotic friends. Why are you here? What do you want?”

 _Shut up, Lex_ , warned the silent voice in my mind I had come to despise.

“Can’t you just leave me alone? I’m not like you!” I was shouting now and becoming more and more worked up as I carried on; I was confused, I was frustrated, and I was still frightened. “Do you get some kind of perverse satisfaction from seeing me paranoid? I—”

Scar chose that moment to produce a violent and ear-splitting roar. I fell immediately silent. As he approached this time I could read the controlled anger in his slow movements, and belatedly realized that perhaps, like a human, he didn’t enjoy being yelled at. He stopped when he was a breadth from me, gazing down with ire I couldn’t see but could definitely feel.

“It’s not fair,” I whispered, because it wasn’t. Scar snarled, lifted one hand—

And then I heard a small, quavering voice. “Alexa?”

I spun around. Cora stood at the top of the stairs, eyes wide and face pale. Her gaze was on Scar, and as he growled softly she gasped, whirled, and bolted down the stairs.

“Cora! _Damnit!”_ And without a second glance at the hunter, I went hurtling after her.

**.x.**


	5. Kwei

**.x.**

Sprinting in my condition wasn’t easy, but somehow I managed. As I half stumbled, half hurtled down the stairs I was inwardly panicking. What if Cora told her mother? What if she told someone else? What if Reed caught wind of this? Fueled by my alarming thoughts I leapt off the stairs and skidded around the corner, clutching my ribs as they protested the wild movement. I could see Cora up ahead; she’d tripped and fallen in her mad flight, and was now struggling to get to her feet.

“Cora!” I lunged forwards, and just as she managed to get upright my fingers closed over her shoulder. She screamed and twisted in my grasp and I almost lost my hold on her but managed to turn her so she was facing me. Still struggling, she stared with enormous, teary, frightened eyes up at me.

“Cora! Cora, it’s me, just me. It’s alright,” I kept repeating this, keeping my voice low, my words soothing, and after a minute she stopped fighting. Trembling violently in my grasp, she tried several times to form a sentence, and when finally she did her voice was choked with tears.

“D-Did it h-hurt you?” She stammered.

I almost laughed at this. Hurt me?  No, but I almost wished he had. Things would be so much easier if he was merely hostile … “No, he didn’t. I’m fine, Cora. I promise?”

“H-He?” she hiccupped, and I closed my eyes and inwardly berated myself for my slip of tongue.

“It,” I correctly quickly.

“You’re not hurt?” she asked, and her voice had steadied somewhat.

“No.” I said, giving her a wan smile in an attempt to calm her.

“Why was it with you?”

It took me a moment to come up with a response, “I … I don’t really know.” I regarded her for a moment, wondering just how much I could divulge. _To hell with it_ , I thought suddenly, and forged on. “Cora, the accident on the island … the reason I’m alive is because of the monsters. They saved my life.”

Her expression was as skeptical as it could be with her nose running and her flushed cheeks streaked with tears. “They look mean,” was all she said.

I had to agree with her on that. “Yes, I know.”

“But they’re not?”

I snorted softly. I couldn’t help it. “No … not really.”

“What do they want with you?”

That was a very good question. “I don’t know, Cora.” I said resignedly. “But I wish I did.”

A silence fell between us, marred only by her snuffles. She hadn’t tried to pull out of my grip, but I hadn’t let go of her, either. Finally she said, “Does that monster back there follow you around?”

I was surprised by her question. She was perceptive. “Yes.” I said.

After another long pause, she said, “Maybe it’s here because it likes you.”

The expression on my face must have been priceless, because abruptly she dissolved into high-pitched giggles, earlier terror forgotten. Torn between grinning and wanting to curl up on the floor and sink away from the world, I stood and propelled her to walk with me by placing my hand on her back. I risked one glance behind us as we walked and as I’d suspected, a shimmering apparition lurked near the stairs, displacing the air. _Don’t follow_ , I willed silently. _Leave us alone._

Cora’s laughter had died, and she snaked her hand through mine as we walked. “Alexa?” She asked softly.

“Yes?”

“I won’t tell anybody about the monsters if they’re not going to hurt anyone.”

I smiled down at her, and this time it was a genuine smile. “They won’t hurt anyone. I promise.”

“Ok.” We walked a few more steps before she asked, “Can I meet the monsters?”

Visions of Cora playing with Scar’s hair crossed through my mind, and I had to stifle another snort. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not? What are they like?”

“They’re … big. And grouchy.” Yes, grouchy was an apt description.

“Oh. Do they like kids?”

I grinned. “No … no, they don’t.”

**.x.**

We made our way back to the infirmary, where Ana was treating one of the salvage crew for windburn sustained on his face. He was leaving as we entered, gracing us with only the merest of nods before sliding out the door. Ana regarded us both with hands on her hips and a wide smile; she was happy, I could tell, that I had “warmed” to her daughter.

“It’s your bedtime,” she informed Cora, who began to protest.

“I want to stay up with Alexa.”

“Alexa’s tired,” I said dryly, and it was the truth. I wanted only to sleep and forget that my life had actually taken this unbelievable twist.

“Of course you are,” Ana said briskly, ushering us out the door. “Come on, I’ll show you your quarters.”

I followed mother and daughter as they walked hand in hand, and we had only just entered the crew cabin area when Ana indicated a door marked with the number thirteen. “This is one of the spares,” she said. “You get it all to yourself. Do you need anything?”

“No,” I replied, twisting the knob and pushing the door open. Like the rest of the ship, the room was white upon white, with a bunk bed set into the wall on the left. There was a small desk in one corner and an open closet in the other while a door on the right wall led to what I presumed would be the bathroom. I nodded and smiled at Ana and Cora. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

“You don’t need anything?” Ana repeated. I shook my head. “Alright, then. Have a good night, Lex.”

“You too,” I said. As Ana turned, towing her daughter with her, Cora winked at me and waved. It was incredible, I mused, how quickly the child could go from scared witless to being my cheerful partner in crime. I stepped into the room, closed the door, and was delighted to find not only a deadbolt lock but a sliding chain as well. I fastened them both, even though I was certain I wouldn’t receive any midnight visitors. I walked to the bed and collapsed onto it with a sigh. I wouldn’t bother turning off the light because I felt safer with it on. I disrobed to my underwear and crawled into the stiff, starchy sheets, wondering if I would have trouble falling asleep.

Five minutes later, I was oblivious to the world.

**.x.**

The next morning I felt terrible. My exertions the night previous had hindered my healing, and every part of my body ached. Ana, coming to check on me, noted I looked rather pale and recommended I try and spend the day at ease. I agreed, because I didn’t feel like facing anyone, human or predator alike. Ana brought me reading material in the form of scientific journals and magazines, and at lunch and dinner she brought me small meals from the cafeteria. Cora accompanied her both times, and I could tell by her eager energy that she was dying to talk about our mutual secret. Her mother, however, wouldn’t allow her to remain alone with me, and I was somewhat grateful for that.

When I had grown tired of lounging about and reading and boredom weighed heavily on my mind, I checked my watch and found that it was rather late at night. Deciding to chance the risk of luring the hunters out of hiding, I ran the brush Ana had given me through my hair before unlocking the door and stepping out into the dim hallway. A glance in either direction revealed nothing lurking about, and so letting the door close softly behind me I began to walk.

My path was aimless. Walking had always cleared my head and I found it useful for deep thinking. I meandered throughout the ship, lost in thought, and when a shadow unfolded itself from within the shadows of the hall, I stopped where I was, half expecting it to be one of the hunters. What stepped out in front of me, however, was none other than the current figurehead of Weyland Industries.

“In the mood for a little late night stroll?” His tone was conversational, purposefully blank, but the light in his eyes belied his placid manner.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I replied flatly, contemplating sidling past him and knowing that he wouldn’t allow it. He’d been waiting for me, waiting to talk to me in private, away from the ears and eyes of anyone else.

"I know what you saw," he murmured as I passed, just loud enough for me to hear. He leaned in and blocked my way with his arm—a high school boy's trick—and spoke again. "You know what it is, too."

I turned my head very slowly to face his as it hovered mere inches from my own. I was furious, but I was also nervous. Reed was clearly man not to be trifled with, and it was just he and I now. When I spoke, my voice was as low as his own. “I don’t _know_ ,” I emphasized, “what you’re talking about. Get out of my way.”

"No." The word was casual, nonchalant. He was enjoying this, the bastard. "Now, why don't you join me for a drink or two, and we can talk about the creatures that seem to follow you around? The tall ones? Guys with armor and masks?" He grinned.

I became utterly still, the breath catching in my throat. I couldn’t hide my reaction and Reed’s grin became one of malicious triumph. For a moment I thought about denying it, but it would have been a futile action, pointless. “Where did you see them?” I asked instead, and the tremble in my voice gave my inner turmoil away.

Reed actually seemed disappointed that I admitted it, though he didn't move. "I keep tabs on my ship, Ms. Woods. I caught a glimpse of them when we were salvaging on Bouvetoya, and a recording from your stay in the infirmary yielded interesting results. I thought it better not to inform Ana why one of her bottles was broken." He did move then, taking my hand and tucking it into his arm. "Really, this isn't a conversation to have out here. I suggest we continue somewhere more private."

I snatched my hand back and stepped quickly away before demanding, “What are you going to do?”

"I'm not sure yet," he sighed. "Ms. Woods, there are so many ways we can help each other. I want some of that technology, some of those weapons those creatures possess. Imagine how powerful Weyland Industries would be, developing things the world has never imagined! And you know them, or at least," he almost touched that mark again in his fascinated way, "One of them."

I swallowed hard, batting his hand away. “I don’t … It’s not like that.”

He was unconvinced, his hand rounding back to my face despite my attempt to push him away. "No? Then perhaps you should tell me exactly how it is, Ms. Woods, because my patience has a limit." His tone grew darker as he spoke, his arms trapping me against the wall, his thumb now actually stroking the rough mark. I don't know what he wanted more – me, or the possibility of power I represented. I didn't really care. He was invading my personal space, and I was getting sick of fending him off.

“ _Back. Off.”_ I ground out. His breath so warm against my face incited tingles of alarm to rise throughout me. Was he hoping that one of the hunters was nearby and would show itself, or was this merely an act of his whim? I didn’t know, didn’t want to know, and so I shoved him back hard with both of my hands flat against his chest. He fell back only for an instant, and as I lunged past him he caught my injured shoulder firmly and wheeled me back around.

I made a sound of pain then. Knowing just where my wound was, he squeezed with his fingers. He pushed me backwards, walking with me, until again the wall was at my back. I kicked out at him but he twisted aside without releasing me, and his retaliation for the blow was to dig his thumb into the puncture in my shoulder. I whimpered, hating the sound, and he lowered his head directly beside mine to speak directly into my ear.

"I do not accept anything less than one hundred percent compliance," he said quietly, casual once more, yet punctuating each word with pressure to my wound. I forced myself to stand despite the pain he was obviously enjoying. "You know what I want from them." He chuckled, and unbelievably, I felt the brush of his lips under my ear, my jaw. I might have struggled, but he put more pressure on my shoulder than he had before. He timed the kiss to land on my mouth just as I opened it to scream in the wave of pain and surprise that followed.

Two things happened simultaneously: I bit down— _hard—_ just as a  roar that shook the hall around us erupted. Reed reared back, spitting blood, and beyond his shoulder Scar took form. With one powerful swing of the hunter’s arm Reed was airborne, flying several feet to land in a rolling skid on the floor. Gasping, wiping furiously at my mouth with the back of my hand, I watched wide eyed as Reed came up more quickly than I would have thought he was able. His own gaze was one of mingled stupefaction and exultation – he'd kissed me not because he desired me, I realized then, but because he’d known this would happen.

Scar was advancing on Reed with a tread I could only fittingly describe as predatory, but to his credit Reed stood his ground. “We meet at last,” he uttered quietly, calmly, and Scar roared again in response. Even though he was unarmed, I knew that Scar could tear Reed apart with nothing but the greatest of ease, and though I despised the man I simply could not stand by and let that happen. I pushed away from the wall and stepped forward—

-only to be hauled back roughly by a large, scaled hand on my arm. I half turned to see Scale regarding me with his head tipped to the side, and beyond him I could see the tell-tale shimmer of the unnamed hunter as he observed the scenario from within the cocoon of his invisibility. “Let me go!” I hissed urgently, but Scale merely growled softly and did not remove his fingers from my wrist.

Reed didn't bother to wipe the blood from his mouth, instead letting it drip onto his shirt, the occasional drop hitting the floor. "I've been wanting to talk to you," he said, as if Scar wasn't ready to separate his limbs. There was fear in his expression, yes, but a euphoric fear, the kind one has when they jump out of a plane for the first time.

“Reed,” I said, and there was a hysterical quaver in my voice, “get out of here. _Now.”_

Scale’s fingers flexed almost as if in warning, but I paid no heed. Scar had stopped and was standing stock still before Reed, a tribute to untamed power and ferocity. “Reed,” I said again, louder, “Just go.”

He was ignoring me, eyes only on the predator before him. Scar flexed one thickly muscled arm with a quiet rumble, and I knew then that Reed was about to die. I shoved my elbow back hard into Scale’s chest and while it wasn’t a blow that would particularly hurt it served its purpose. Scale grunted, and his fingers loosened, and I took the opportunity to wrench free and dart forward. Scar was reaching for Reed as I swiftly inserted myself between them. He gave me a warning snarl and pushed me roughly aside.

“Stop it!” I shouted, trying to fight past his restraining arm. Finally I ducked under it until I again stood between him and Reed, and the sound he made was distinctly not pleased. He didn’t try and remove me, however, and I was thankful for that.

I half turned, keeping Scar in my sight but speaking to Reed. “Leave now, Reed, because if you don’t you’re going to get your ass handed to you.”

He tore his gaze from Scar finally, at first annoyed, and then understanding dawned. He knew, he finally understood to some degree, that it was my doing that he even lived now. I wanted him to know it was me that stood between him and death at Scar’s hands, that he should by all rights now be dead. He stared at me for a moment. If I hadn't been so much in pain, so weary, so tired of all of this, I might have taken a heartbeat or two to gloat about my position.

But then he ruined the moment. God help me, I couldn't believe the new speculation on his face when he looked from Scar to me, and then to Scale standing several feet away. "We _will_ meet later," he said quietly as he passed, earning another furious growl. With a meaningful glance at Scar, he slid past the hunters and moved away down the hall. I watched as Scale’s head turned, following his progress, watched as the cloaked hunter stood silently in the shadows. I knew what was running through their minds, and a part of me was wishing I had let Scar do what he’d wanted to do.

An angry grumble let me know Scar was unhappy, and with a sigh I turned to him standing large and obtrusive before me. “I couldn’t let you kill him,” I said.

His hand lifted to brush with his large fingers at the corner of my mouth, and I remembered then what Reed had done. I raised my own fingers to my lips, and they came away slightly red with blood. I felt somewhat mollified that I’d injured the son of a bitch after what he’d done, but I would have felt a lot better if I’d somehow castrated him. Scar’s hand lingered, moving to brush at a stray wisp of my hair and then tracing the now familiar path of the marks on my cheek. After a moment I stepped back, out of reach, and hung my head as Cora’s earlier words echoed through my mind.

_Maybe it's here because it likes you …_

“I’m going to bed.” I said flatly, not knowing or caring if the hunters understood. My knees felt weak from the adrenalin that had flooded me and then left in the aftermath, and Reed’s intrusion into my personal space made me dearly want a bath. My shoulder was aching something fierce, and I could feel blood seeping through the gauze; Reed had reopened the wound.

Scar had followed me, hand now moving carefully over my shoulder, probing. I let him, knowing that to resist would earn me knuckles on my head. When he let his arm fall to his side with a clicking growl, I merely nodded before turning and making my way slowly down the hall. The hunters let me go, and I was beyond relieved at that fact.

_Maybe it's here because it likes you …_

The sound I made as I rounded the corner was a mingled laugh and sob. What on earth was I going to do now?

**.x.**

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part of Reed was written by a fellow fanfic author, who used to go by the pen names Divinebird and Chocobo Goddess. When it came to create the parts with Reed, she and I would use MSN messenger (it was a long time ago, guys) and write back and forth until we'd finished that section. I'm still very appreciative to this day for her input and the way she developed Reed's character. Her contributions in that regard apply to the entire story, as well as another AVP fic I'd started writing as well.


	6. Mesh'in'ga

**.x.**

I didn’t sleep that night. I sat in the corner of my bed, knees pulled tight against my chest, and did not fight the tumultuous emotions I suddenly found myself besieged with. I didn’t cry, to my credit, but I did remain silent and motionless as I pondered the current bewildering, obscure, and somewhat frightening state of my existence. More than once Cora’s words—“ _Maybe it’s here because it likes you”—_ would reverberate throughout my head, and the implications of this made me close my eyes in quiet despair. I didn’t hate Scar, no, but I wished I did. Oh, how I wished.

Dawn came as it always did, and not long after Ana came knocking at my door. She took one look at me huddled as I was and ordered Cora, who had accompanied her, out of the room. Seeing the blood that had seeped through the shoulder of my shirt, she once again became the doctor I had first known her as, and ordered me to accompany her to the infirmary. I did as she asked and when she demanded to know what had happened the night previous I told her about my run in with Reed. Of course I said nothing of the hunters, and I knew that when she confronted him about it, Reed wouldn’t either.

Ana’s expression became livid upon the completion of my explanation, and her hands were actually shaking in rage as she applied salve and new gauze to my reopened wound. It wasn’t as bad as I had feared . She examined the rest of me and explained in a tight, clipped voice that I was almost healed. This gave rise to a new wave of apprehension within me, for once I was healed, what would the hunters do? But I pushed these thoughts away, and listened as Ana swore up and down that she was going to kill Reed.

I almost wished she could.

I left the infirmary then, and made my way back to my room. Ana had gone to find the head of Weyland Industries in order to give him a tongue lashing, and I felt slightly vindicated by this, for Ana was ferocious when angered. I lay back down on the bed and felt the weariness that had so eluded me the night previous settle over me, and I gave into it.

**.x.**

I spent the next three days in utter isolation. Ana, having returned to tell me she’d threatened Reed to within an inch of his life, guessed that my melancholy and xenophobia were side effects of Reed’s attack. The truth, however, was that I simply wanted nothing to do with anybody. The only place I felt even remotely safe was in my cabin. Ana agreed to bring me meals, warning me as she did so that Reed would wish to speak to me again. I nodded grimly, for I had already expected as much, and asked her in turn when the _Piper Maru_ would hoist anchor and begin on its journey to rejoin the rest of the world. Her answer was not heartening. Resolute and certain that something of value could still be found on Bouvetoya, Reed wouldn’t give permission to leave the island until such things could be found. This made me even more disconsolate, for what he searched for simply did not exist.

It was on the eve of the third day that Ana brought Reed to my room. I had just finished my meal and was sitting at the desk, reading a biochemical industries magazine. Ana knocked once and pushed the door open hesitantly as I called her in. I half turned in my seat to see behind her small form Reed’s taller, leaner one as he crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. I looked a question at Ana, but Reed spoke before she could.

"I have an expedition going out to the island one more time," he said, watching me. "Ana says you're well enough to move about. You will accompany me."

“There’s nothing out there,” I replied wearily.

“And she’s told you that,” Ana added pointedly.

He didn't even look at her. "I know she has. I am still going. And she," he put his hands on the desk and brought his face down to my level, "is coming with me." His tone was almost genial, as though the previous night hadn't happened, and he straightened. "You're the only one who has been out there, Ms. Woods. You know which places are safe and which ones aren't. Consider it a final sweep, before we leave for good." He smiled down at me. One of his teeth was chipped. I was certain it hadn't been like that before.

_Good._

“I don’t know what you’re looking for.” I said flatly, although I most certainly did. “I won’t be of any help to you.”

“She hasn’t been feeling well, besides,” Ana said, and I suddenly felt like giving her a hug for her blatant and blunt defense. “And I’m sure she doesn’t want to go back there and be reminded of what she went through.”

"Or maybe she just doesn't want to come because she has something to hide?" he questioned. "Ms. Woods, you will come with me or I will hold you responsible for the deaths of not only the rest of the team, but my father as well." He leaned back down. "But I know you have nothing to hide, right? Ms. Woods?"

“No more than you,” I murmured. I wasn’t surprised, not really. I had suspected he would pull something like this.

“She’s not completely healed, Reed,” Ana bit the words out furiously, voice fairly trembling with anger.

He looked annoyed, but eyed my bandaged shoulder for a moment. "Fine," he said at length, "But the moment she can travel, we go. We've wasted enough time here as it is." He glanced over his shoulder at Ana. "I'd like a word alone with our guest, and I'm sure you have something vital to do?"

For a moment they stood, locked in their glares. Ana dearly wanted to disobey, I knew, but when all was said and done Reed was her superior. With a quick, apologetic glance at me she slipped through the door, closing it hard behind her. Schooling my face into an impassive mask, preparing myself for the worst, I waited to see what it was Reed had to say.

All pretense of civility between us was gone. "I can and will follow through on the accusation," he growled, "unless you get me what I want. Do you understand? I will make your life hell if you disobey me."

Oh, I understood. I understood perfectly. There were enough holes in my story that he could accuse me and be believed, and adding to that the fact that he would have the best prosecution money could buy, I had no choice but to acquiesce. He had me and he knew it. I could see the triumph lurking in his heavy lidded eyes. Instead of acknowledging that fact, I said softly, “You really are quite the big man when the hunters aren’t around.”

His eyes narrowed in displeasure as the barb hit home. "Just keep up your part, Ms. Woods. I will be following your progress very closely."

Without another word, he left, closing the door very carefully behind him. Ana reentered immediately, scowling.

“I’m sorry, Lex,” she said earnestly, but I shook my head and gave her a tired smile.

“It’s alright, Ana. You can’t help the fact that your boss is an asshole.”

She snorted, amused, and shook her head before eyeing me. “You look tired. You should get some sleep.”

I nodded, “I will.”

“Again, I’m really sorry.”

“I know, Ana.”

“Ok. Good night.” She left me then, closing the door quietly behind her.

**.x.**

I sat staring at the wall a long time after Ana, lost again in thoughts better kept locked away. When finally I couldn’t take my self-exile anymore, when the voices in my head threatened to overwhelm me with their vehemence, I stood, donned my outdoor gear, and left my room. It was by now late at night, and the ship’s corridors were lit only by auxiliary lights. I made my way purposefully, my body feeling better than it had in a long, long while. The trick to healing quickly, I thought ruefully, was to avoid Scar.

_Scar_ … my slight amusement abruptly faded.

I wandered until I found stairs leading above deck, and I realized that I had never been in this part of the ship before. Stepping out into the incredibly chill night air, I pulled my hood up snugly over my head and walked along the length of the railing. The _aurora australis_ were again in magnificent display, and I watched them with appreciation unabashed. I could almost forget, as I stood out here surrounded by the untamed beauty of the Antarctic, who I was and what troubles perpetually followed me. My state of blissful ignorance died as I realized I was no longer alone. Scale watched me from some several feet away, uncloaked and so silent that his appearance startled me.

I did not want this, did not want to face the hunters and all they reminded me of, and so I turned my back on Scale and walked quickly back in the direction I had come. I felt certain relief as the stairs came into view—I would be able to make it back to my room, after all—and then Scar materialized before me, and my heart sank.

He rumbled his greeting, reaching, as he always did, for the mark on my cheek. I sidestepped, eyes averted, wondering how exactly I’d managed to get such a fearsome creature enamored of me—if that was indeed the case. When he snarled I had no choice but to look back at him, and I did so with a heavy sigh. How to discourage a friendship—or any other relationship, for that matter—with an eight foot tall, incredibly fierce sentient being wasn’t exactly something covered in any institute of learning I’d ever attended. The fact of the matter was I really didn’t mind Scar. He was like an overgrown friend, an extremely violent one, but a friend nonetheless.

And oh, how that fact bothered me.

Finally, resignedly, I said, “Hello.”

He didn’t try to touch me again, and I was glad. Instead he tilted his head in his curious matter, metal bound hair clattering over his shoulders, and held out his hand. Bemused, wary, I stared at the extended limb for a moment before shrugging inwardly and laying my own hand on top of his. Those large, clawed fingers closed over my skin, and I wondered again at the reptilian texture of his flesh. I half expected him to try and lead me somewhere, but all he did was run the tips of his fingers slowly, gently over the back of my hand. It was a calming gesture, a soothing gesture, and I let it do what it was meant to do until I noticed what his other hand held.

A needle full of sedative … one of the number missing from the infirmary …

I must have made a sound, for as I attempted to wrench away he tightened his hold on my hand and pulled me closer. I fought him, swearing, shouting, kicking, but I simply could not break his hold. The needle was prepped, ready for insertion, but there was no way in hell I was going to stand by and meekly let him administer it. He figured this out after several moments, for I wouldn’t hold still enough for him to give it to me. And so it was that he propelled me backwards, still holding my hand, until I came up flat against the wall.

I was screaming by this point, my voice carrying clearly in the stillness of the night air. _Someone will come_ , I told myself fiercely. _Someone will find us. Someone will help me._ I fought harder, using the wall to brace my weight and kicking out with all I had at Scar’s legs. I connected several times; his grunts of irritation where enough to let me know that I wasn’t really hurting him, but I was most certainly pissing him off. I didn’t have time to dwell on the hazards of provoking his ire, because quite suddenly he had pinned me with the entire bulk of his large body, and I could not move.

“ _You son of a bitch!”_ I screamed. _“Why are you doing this?”_

There was unsurprisingly no answer and with the hand still holding mine, he splayed my arm out to the side until it was up and over my head. Holding it there firmly, he tugged at the sleeves of my coat and clothing until my flesh was exposed to just below my elbow. I couldn’t fight, I couldn’t get away, I couldn’t _move—_

He shifted slightly to give the hand gripping the needle access and I knew then that there was no point in fighting. This was going to happen and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. A small part of me hated him for this and I took solace in that. I stopped struggling and became simply limp, pressed between his body and the wall. He noticed this, and his growling became abruptly softer, quieter.

“Do it,” I whispered, staring at the ground.

He didn’t move for a moment—contemplating my words? But then I felt the familiar prick of the needle in my flesh, felt the seep of the sedative sliding under my skin. When he was done he released me, stepped back, and I remained docilely where I was. From behind Scar I could see Scale and the other unnamed hunter, both uncloaked and quietly observing, and I felt a surge of rage towards them both. Damn them all, damn their race, damn their twisted, sadistic values …

I slid to the floor as the pleasant weariness began to fill me, keeping my knees tucked close and my hands loose at my side. Scar crouched before me, his chittering trill inquisitive, and when he reached out to touch my mark I hadn’t the will or energy to move away. And so I watched him, staring into the reflective surface of his visor, as the sedative overran my senses and my thoughts until the lids of my eyes could no longer support their own weight.

Before I was lost to sleep, I wondered faintly where he was taking me.

**.x.**


	7. Nain-de

**.x.**

It was the cold that roused me from the merciful oblivion, so devoid of anything resembling reality, that I was adrift in. Icy tendrils wound themselves around my limbs and settled deep in my bones, and awareness returned to me slowly. When finally my mind was roused into a coherent state, it took me several tries to open my eyes. Upon succeeding, I found myself staring uncomprehendingly into a night sky full of ever twinkling stars. My first thought— _where am I?—_ was swept aside by a sudden, torrential rush of memory, and as I shook my head to dispel the grogginess that engulfed me I became aware that I was not alone. I was sitting bolt upright in a heartbeat. Scar, crouched at my side, steadied me with a hand on my back. Fighting the panic that was constricting my lungs, trying to think past the heavy disorientation that was the lingering remainder of the sedative, I tried to speak three times and failed. My voice had abandoned me and as I struggled to find it, I cast a glance around me. My heart abruptly sank, and despair flooded my being.

I was sitting in the middle of the whaling station on Bouvetoya.

To be more exact, I had been settled by someone—I presumed it was Scar—upon the frost covered wooden landing of a small building with a dilapidated sign reading _“Inn”_ in one of the broken windows. There was no around but the two of us. I could see, not far off, the remains of the building the large alien had destroyed only days earlier. Snow was falling softly, and my quick, uneven breathing rose on the air in small wisps of vapor. _Thank god_ , said an inner voice with sardonic amusement _, that you were abducted while wearing your outdoor gear._

Looking back to the hunter, I asked thickly, “Why?”

No answer, as usual. The gift of telepathy must be a wondrous thing, I thought bitterly. Instead Scar rose to his feet and extended one hand to me. Recalling with vivid clarity what had happened the last time I accepted his hand I got to my feet slowly and of my own accord. Being upright sent me into a wave of vertigo, and I sidestepped suddenly in an attempt to regain my balance. A clawed hand about my upper arm steadied me, and I hated myself suddenly for the gratitude I felt towards the hunter for aiding me. As his fingers left me he growled quietly. Mulishly I stared at the ground, wishing him far, far away and myself back on the icebreaker and bound for home.

_Home …_

“I don’t want to be here,” I said softly and to myself.

“Lex,” said Scar in Ana’s voice, prompting me to return my eyes to him. He reached around and removed something from his back. It was the weapon I’d been given by the hunter elder in this very place several days ago. Seeing it brought upon me a sense of foreboding, and as Scar held it out before me I eyed it a moment before raising a gloved hand and wrapping my fingers around the haft.

It was then I noticed something—Scar was armed. A cannon could be seen over his left shoulder. A shuriken rode at his waist, one wrist was gauntleted while the other served as a perch for another one of the strange computer like devices, and above the other shoulder I could see the length of his own spear. I presumed it was the one he had given me while we were in the pyramid. He was clad as he always was in his thick and stylized armor, and his entire form was encased in the mesh I’d noticed on all the hunters. As I let the arm holding the weapon fall to my side, he reached out and cuffed me lightly under the chin with two fingers before grabbing my arm, turning, and leading me forth.

I contemplated resisting but realized it would be pointless. Any petulance on my behalf would most likely wind up with me being dragged through the snow, and if I had to lose all else here I would at least like to retain some semblance of dignity. Resigned, apprehensive, and more than a little angry I followed him obediently, trying to ignore the way his fingers flexed gently over my wrist, or the way he trilled as though to lull me.

We crossed the expanse of the whaling station, and as we passed the ruined, collapsed mouth of the ice tunnel that had led me into this mess in the first place I couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down my spine as recollections crowded my memory. I forced them aside and instead chose to dwell on something more unpleasant: the purpose for my being here, and what Scar expected me to do. Was he taking me to meet his people? Dread at this thought made my knees weak, for while Scar was most certainly friendly I had my doubts that the rest of his race would be as much so.

My nervous contemplations halted as we came to the outskirts of the whaling station. Waiting for us there, tall silhouettes against a blanket of snow, were Scale and the other hunter I had yet to name. Scar let go of my arm as we approached, and as we joined the two they all began to communicate with each other in a mixture of their growling language and hand motions. I watched, feeling more and more anxious because Scale and the other hunter were also armed. When suddenly they all turned to look at me, I swallowed thickly, and as the unnamed hunter separated himself from his comrades to approach I began to panic.

He approached to within an inch of me –s what was it with the hunters and their preference for violating personal space? Craning my head back to meet the blank visor of his mask, I got the distinct impression that this was an introduction, and I was uneasily reminded of the late Celtic. I hadn’t had the opportunity to study this predator up close and I had no choice but to notice now that he was both taller and broader in build than his two companions. If I thought Scar screamed _dangerous_ , this one had _deadly_ written all over him. His skin, what I could see of it, had a yellower cast to it than the other two, but it was still mottled. His hair was tied back with something, but a stray piece falling over his shoulder fell almost to his waist, beringed with metal. The metal faceplate he wore was similar to Celtic’s, but less fearsome and more linear. A cannon rode over his shoulder, and along the length of his arms two massive, slightly curved blades rode secure against his skin; I imagined they worked on the same principal as a switchblade.

Quite suddenly I had a name for him – he looked about as fun to trifle with as a tank, and therefore that’s what I would call him. My brief amusement at finding a suitable title faded, however, as he leaned and roared directly in my face. Granted, the effect would have been greater had his mask been removed, but it served the purpose it was meant to by intimidating me. Acutely aware of the fact that we were being closely observed by Scale and Scar, weary of having to prove myself yet again, I let my anger fill my voice as I raised my head defiantly and spoke.

“You are one _ugly_ motherfu—”

Scar made an abrupt, loud, and somewhat rude snarl, drowning out the rest of my sentence. I had no idea if Tank understood what I had said, and as he stared down at me in silence I began to steel myself for the blow I knew was most likely coming. I was pleasantly surprised when he instead gripped my shoulder while with the other hand roughly touched the mark on my cheek. Stepping back then, he thumped himself once on the chest and gave a bark of what I perceived to be approval. I relaxed, for I was familiar enough by now with the gesture of mutual respect. As he moved back to his companions I followed closely behind, at ease enough now to try and discern from them what exactly I was doing here on the very last place in the world I wanted to be.

“Why am I here?” I asked Scar because he was the closest to me and the most familiar of the three. Although I hadn’t expected an answer and was in fact asking merely to make myself feel better, I was annoyed when Scar ignored me and instead watched as Tank moved his fingers over his arm device and prompted what seemed to be holographic image of the area to appear. Fascinated despite myself, I peered closely at it and made a sound of interest as I recognized the small, digitized versions of the four of us. Abruptly the image vanished, and with a grunt Tank closed the device and began to walk. Scale trailed him, and Scar again grabbed my arm before continuing after his brethren. I was beginning to resent that he felt he had to haul me everywhere, and while I couldn’t say I wouldn’t have run, I didn’t appreciated being lugged around like I was a wayward child. A few steps later I managed to wriggle free of his grip. He stopped and turned, but when I strode determinedly past him he gave a low rumble of amusement and followed.

We walked for a long while, and I became increasingly grateful of the fact that I was wearing suitable clothing. I wasn’t warm, but I wasn’t cold either, and none of my extremities were numb, so I took this as a blessing. Staring at the broad back of Scale, I wondered how the hunters countered the extreme temperature—perhaps the mesh that covered their bodies had something to do with it? I stumbled then, and a snort from Scar behind me made me bite my lip in irritation and focus more on walking. I was glad I didn’t have to break the trail, for the snow by now had risen to my knees. Walking as I was behind Tank and Scale I had only to step in their large footsteps, but it was still tiring work.

I was in a full sweat by the time Tank held up a fist to signal a halt. As Scale moved I caught glimpse over his shoulder of the mountains of Bouvetoya. From the whaling station they had been visible, looming silhouettes in the perpetual night, but our journey had brought us to the rocky bluffs and hills that bordered them. Tank flipped open his arm device once again and began to study it. Scar moved up to stand beside me, and as he did so he caught my hand; he pressed something round and cold into my palm before curling my fingers around it with an almost inaudible growl. As I lifted it to eye level for closer inspection he strode to stand beside his companions. Curious, I opened my hand to find that I held a large metal band, nondescript. It took me a moment to realize it came from one of the strands of his hair.

I could only gaze it for long moments, wondering at the implications such a simple trinket held. I was both unnerved and touched by the gesture, and the fact that I was so torn deeply disturbed me. Knowing the metal ring was too large to fit on any of my fingers, I crouched and laid the elder’s weapon across my knees before reaching back to undo the length of wire around my neck that the tooth was strung on. I slid the metal band onto the wire and refastened it, and as I stood again both tooth and ring rode against my collarbone.

When I looked up again I found Scale regarding me, head tilted, as Scar and Tank conversed in hand gestures. Wondering vaguely if I’d offended him somehow by making a necklace out of the metal band, I regarded him warily as he approached me, reaching behind him as he did so. What he produced had me flabbergasted; it was a shotgun—the same shotgun I’d used and subsequently lost on my previous adventures. I took it from him gingerly, amazed, but when I cracked the barrel I was somewhat dismayed to find only a few rounds left. That aside, I was honored that he’d actually deigned to secure another weapon for me, and so I mumbled a thank you and gave him what I hoped was a grateful smile. He nodded once, stepping back, and just then Tank gave a growl meant to catch our attention. He pointed with two fingers to the right, where Scar was standing a short distance away under a rocky overhang.

Moving closer, following the lead of Scale and Tank, I discovered the overhang was actually a very dark, very ominous opening into the rocky, snow blanketed hillside. The hunters, as one, began to prepare their weaponry. Scar and Tank’s shoulder cannons activated themselves with the high pitched whine of machinery, Scale and Scar withdrew their spears, and Tank flicked one of his arm blades into an outright position with the flexing of a muscle. Watching them, noting the purposefulness with which they prepared themselves, a thought strayed out of the depths of my mind to make me suddenly numb.

This was a hunting party.

My gaze went from the predators to the shotgun and the spear I held in my hands. There was no way out of this, I was certain, and I dreaded whatever it was we were hunting. No amount of pleading would assist me in escaping what awaited, and so it was with grim resignation that I strung the elder’s spear through a loop on the waist of my pants. It wasn’t secure, and would bump against me as I moved, but I needed both hands for the gun. Shouldering the rifle, ensuring the safety was on, I found Scar watching me, and instead of screaming at him, instead of shooting him the way I was half-tempted to, I merely gave him a quick, grave nod.

He made a sound to Tank, who strode forth into the darkened opening without a backward glance. Scale followed after, and then it was only Scar and I outside in the stillness of the snowy landscape. He took the three steps he needed to be in front of me and touched a finger to the metal band he’d given me where it lay outside my clothing. A grumble of approval left him then, and he tipped my chin up with one finger before beckoning me to follow.

And so I did. Reluctant, confused, and growing steadily frightened, I followed him, this hunter, this predator, who for some reason regarded me as an equal, or perhaps even more. I followed him into that shadowy void, and though I dearly wanted to, I did not look back.

**.x.**


	8. Chiva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title definitions thus far:
> 
> M’di Hdlak – No fear  
> Hult’ah – Guardian/sentry  
> Mei’hswei – Brother  
> D’tai k-de – Fight  
> Mesh’in’ga – “The Battle Dreamtime”  
> Nain-de – Hunt/type of hunt  
> Chiva - Trial

**.x.**

With every step I took further into the darkened cavern, I was assailed by apprehensions, by worries I could no longer ignore. Any creature the predators deemed worthy of hunting had to be highly dangerous, and I was more than aware of the fact that I was once again entering a situation from which I may not survive. What would happen when my absence was discovered onboard the _Piper Maru_? How long would it be until Reed realized I spoke the truth about the island, that there was nothing of value to salvage and would then order the icebreaker’s anchor to be hoisted, leaving me here on this island? And what about Cora and Ana? I felt a sharp pang as I thought of them, for in the short time I’d known them I had become overly fond of the pair.

There were other unhappy things to dwell on, as well. What if I did live through this hunt? Would the hunters take me back to the icebreaker and leave me there? It was a nice thought, but I was by now fairly certain that it wouldn’t happen. Whatever the mark that adorned my cheek signified, it had somehow tied me to these hunters—perhaps marked me as kin? And then there was the matter of Scar, and I could no longer deny what it was I so feared. When all was said and done, it would be he I would have to contend with when it came time to decide my ultimate fate, and I despaired at that realization.

As we further penetrated the cavern, it became increasingly dark. I could not see much beyond my own face, but the hunters moved with the precise assurance I had witnessed before. I had a suspicion that their metal masks offered some sort of infrared vision assistance, or perhaps the hunters could see such as a trait of their race. Either way, the fact that I could not see anything beyond the broad back of Scar whom I was trailing made me uneasy. Very little good was I going to be on a hunt when my vision was limited to within a foot of myself. I briefly contemplated turning tail and attempting to escape this madness. I knew it would be of no use, however. Obviously, I was considered a vital part of this hunt, for they had waited until I was mostly healed to bring me along. Killing in order to save my own life had in turn brought me respect from the hunters, and now I was expected to kill simply for sport—or so I speculated. Perhaps, I mused grimly, it would have been best just to die in the temple.

The path we had been following in a steady, gentle descent abruptly widened and began to incline, and as we climbed I found that either my eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark, or it was lightening somehow. There was no sound but for our soft footfalls and the occasional quiet grumble from one of the predators. Bringing up the rear, I studied the walls as I passed with growing concern. Obviously this tunnel had been a natural occurrence; the stalactites and stalagmites and the glitter of some mineral long trapped within the dense rock affirmed my thoughts. As we continued ever upwards, however, I began to notice carvings etched into the stone, and they were very reminiscent of all the ancient art I’d seen within the temple. And as the incline leveled and we walked again on even ground, I saw something on the wall that made me close my eyes momentarily in despair. It was a roughly hewn insignia—the same I’d seen numerous times, with the alien and the hunter locked together in eternal combat.

Scale made a noise then that drew us all to a halt. He began to use his own arm device to bring up another digitized map. As he went about it, my gaze wandered back to the carvings. There was ancient script there along with the primitive, stylized images, and while I had no idea what it said I could hazard a guess. I looked then at Scale and the crimson three-dimensional image rising from his arm device and as I studied it with the same intentness the hunters did my blood turned icy with a sudden realization. This tunnel, hidden beneath the mountains of the island, connected somehow with the enormous cavern that had housed the temple. Perhaps this was an alternate entrance, or maybe the pyramid wasn’t meant to be the only hunting ground …

What if the entire island was the hunting ground?

It made sense to me suddenly. I had no way of knowing how many aliens there had been and I only knew how many had died by either my, Celtic’s, or Scar’s hand. What if he creatures had found their way out of the temple before we had? I already knew the largest alien, the one I had come to think of as the queen, had managed to do just that. It was entirely possible that some of the beasts had left the pyramid before it had been destroyed and the fact that we stood even now in this tunnel told me my hunch was right. I had thought the nightmare was over—I had thought that I had triumphed, but I had been so very wrong. Something had survived, something was currently roaming this tunnel, and we in turn were stalking it.

Scale flipped his arm device closed, cast a cursory glance over all of us, and gestured with three fingers first ahead, and then to the left of him. I had no idea what he was signifying, but Tank and Scar must have, for Scale began to walk again as they rumbled in response. Before he turned to follow, Scar looked to me and tapped the barrel of my shotgun with his closed fist and gave an almost inaudible growl. His meaning was clear—be prepared to use it. Swallowing thickly I gave him a brief nod, and we began to walk again.

Upwards we continued, and as we did so I found that it wasn’t my imagination—it was getting brighter within the closed confines of the tunnel. After several minutes I realized that the light factor was coming from a faint luminance from within the stone walls. They were almost glowing with a golden hue, putting the etched pictures and symbols in vivid relief. Was this some sort of technology from the hunters’ race? It had to be, for never had I seen such a thing occurring naturally in nature. Whatever it was, it aided me in seeing, and I was extremely grateful for such a minute blessing.

Abruptly, between one step and the next, I found that we were no longer traversing an incline. The passage had leveled out. Not only that, I saw as Scar and I drew to a halt beside Tank, but we stood now at an intersection, with three paths branching out further into the mountainside from the one we stood on. It was Scar this time that brought up the image on his arm device and this time I could see ourselves and other moving figures around us. Swiftly Scar disabled the image, snarling. Tank and Scale were already running into the passage on the right, and as we followed I thumbed off the safety on the shotgun.

I was able to see quite easily in this tunnel, and I had to strive to keep up with the predators. My side ached as I ran, reminding me that I was not yet completely whole, but being left behind was not an option. Ahead of me, Scar’s cannon moved into activation over his shoulder, and my hands tightened involuntarily on the shotgun. I didn’t need a sixth sense to know we were approaching something dangerous. Scar swerved around a sudden corner in the passage with an ease that belied his large frame, and I did the same—

And found myself in chaos.

All I could recognize in that instant was that we were no longer confined to the rocky passage – we stood now on a ledge overlooking a huge cavern. I barely managed to leap to the side as Tank came hurtling through the air towards me. Entangled with his massive frame was a wiry, spindly ebony form that I was by now so terribly familiar with. Shrinking back against the wall, I tore my horrified gaze from the two struggling entities before me and searched the dimness for my other two companions.

Scar stood not far off, cannon firing repeatedly, the shots illuminating the shadowed cavern below. What I saw by that harsh blue light chilled the blood in my veins: there were three more aliens swarming up a steep, rocky incline towards us, and behind them lurked something huge, something hulking …

Screeching, one of the creatures flung itself at Scale. With a swiftness that was remarkable the predator used the alien’s lunge to an advantage, catching the beast by the neck and turning to hurl it over his shoulder. It struck the passage wall opposite me with enough force to judder stones loose, and as it quickly gained its feet, hissing, Scale launched himself at it, but I could see no more of their struggle as Scar, bearing the weight of an alien that had thrown itself upon him, came crashing into me. I went down beneath them, covering my head with my arms and the gun and attempting to scurry out from underneath. Screaming his rage, flat on his back, Scar brought his knees in close to his body and propelled the alien from him with both metal clad feet flat against its carapace. Stumbling to my feet, I brought my weapon swiftly to my shoulder and sighted—

Something struck me hard from behind. I twisted to the side to avoid landing on Scar and managed to turn my fall into a shoulder roll while still maintaining the grip on my shotgun. I came up awkwardly, feeling a stabbing sensation in my side but ignoring it. All around me was roiling commotion, and I had only a second to get my bearings before I could make out something rushing towards me. Panic and fear receded then and there was only the cold reality that I had to strike now or lose my life. Almost unconsciously, in one movement, I brought the rifle up to bear and pulled the trigger. The shot struck the creature fast approaching in one of its hind limbs, and it stumbled before baring its teeth at me in a breathy shriek. I fired twice more, my hands steadily gripping the gun. Both bullets struck home in the same injured leg, the buckshot shredding muscle and ebony exoskeleton and spraying caustic blood in all directions. With a warbling cry the alien hit the ground, its leg no longer able to support it, but it was still coming for me, pulling itself along, screaming …

Furious, terrified, I let fall the rifle and withdrew the elder’s weapon from the loop at my belt, flicking the small metal catch along the grip. It sprang forth into its true form: a long spear with long, wickedly curved barbs at the middle and smaller, pronged barbs at the tip. The alien was only a few feet from me, and the trail made by its acid blood steamed and sputtered. I took the two steps I needed to be directly before it, and as it reared up to strike me, as its double jaws snapped at me, I drove the length of the spear directly through its exposed neck with a strength borne of rage and fear. I leapt back then as it began to thrash in the throes of agony in an attempt to avoid its blood. My eyes were torn from the dying creature by the angry bellow of a hunter and I spun about to see Tank grappling with a beast, slicing at it repeatedly with the long jagged blade that had sprung forth from his forearm. I knelt and fumbled for my shotgun, but when I came up again Tank had buried his blade deep into the midsection of the alien. With a savage and echoing roar the predator ripped his arm free, nearly cleaving his opponent in two, and as it fell twitching to the ground he threw back his head and howled his triumph.

His cry was joined by that of Scar and Scale, both emerging from the shadows of the passage from whence we had came. Both were bleeding; neon rivulets had traced paths down the unarmored part of Scale’s midsection, and Scar’s right thigh was awash in bright green. Neither seemed worse for wear, however, as they came forth and exchanged gestures of victory with Tank. I watched them from where I stood, letting the shotgun rest against my shoulder and aware that I should be feeling some sort of distress because of what had just occurred, and dismayed because I wasn’t.

It was Scale that approached my kill, head moving from me to the alien, and then back again. He removed the spear easily and handed it to me. Careful to avoid the blood that coated the length I flicked it back into its compact form. Scale was now examining the corpse closely, stepping around the large pile of blood that was even now gouging a hole in the stone floor and kicking the carcass over to reveal the alien’s mangled leg. Scale turned to me again, and I knew his gaze was for the rifle I had shouldered. With a grunt, he skirted the body and stepped in front of me, and when he laid one hand on my shoulder and brought the other fisted to his chest, I felt something I had never expected to feel under these circumstances.

_Pride._

Tank and Scar were there then, chittering over the alien carcass— _my_ kill—before turning their attention to me. Tank, reaching my side, pounded me on the back with such force I almost staggered headfirst into the steaming blood pool spreading steadily outwards from the corpse. He then thumped his chest as Scale had, giving me a respectful growl, and I couldn’t help the answering smile that crept across my face. Tank and Scale stepped past me then, heading towards their own kills and leaving me face to face with Scar. My smile faded.

I didn’t know what I expected, but I was uncomfortably aware of the fact that my heart was still racing, and that my mouth had gone unaccountably dry. Scar approached slowly, halting only when a few inches separated us, and with a tip of his head indicated the alien I had killed. I didn’t move, and as one hand lifted towards my face I waited for his inevitable touch with bated breath. Two fingers followed the line of my jaw before rising to trace my mark. I didn’t flinch, wasn’t sure I wanted to, and that in itself made me feel distraught and confused. With a soft rumble, his hand dropped to where the ring and tooth hung about my neck, and he brushed them briefly before clasping my shoulder. Torn, wondering wildly why I felt the way I did, I was about to step away and out of his grasp when a sound from the depths of the cavern rose on the air.

As one we turned to face the incline from which the aliens had come, and it was then I remembered what I’d caught a glimpse of before we’d been attacked. Standing half-silhouetted midway up the steep path was something large, something that walked manlike but was undeniably not. It moved then, and I saw the lengthy, oblong head swing in our direction, caught the movement of two lower mandibles attached to double jaws, watched as a long, spiked tip tail cut the air around it with languid ease.

Scar snarled, a sound of alarm, and in the next instant Tank and Scale had joined us. As two shoulder cannons fired in unison, the shadowy creature was moving, retreating down the incline with an awkward gait that possessed a familiar, animalistic grace. The hunters made no move to pursue it, however, and as it disappeared from view they began to communicate in excited chitters. I ignored them and stared wide eyed into the awaiting abyss of the cavern, for I knew now what it was we hunted.

The creature that had erupted from Scar’s chest those many days ago …

I had turned without realizing it to stare at Scar’s exposed midsection. I’d seen the jagged, misshapen scar there before and had known what it was, but now I looked at it in a new light. I could barely see it now, hidden as it was by the mesh he wore … my eyes moved again to where I’d last seen our ultimate prey.

The abomination. The hybrid.

The hunters began to move then, taking trophies from the aliens they had overcome. I remained numbly where I was, gaze fixated on my own kill. I had hoped however futilely that this would be a quick, simple hunt, but I realized now that I had been overly foolish. There was nothing simple about this, and I had a sinking feeling our prey was going to be in a league of its own. I sighed, and it wasn’t a happy sound. The true hunt had only just begun.

**.x.**


	9. Ch'hkt-a

**.x.**

As the hunters set about gathering trophies, I walked over to lean against the cavern wall with a nonchalant calm I didn’t feel. Like before, the aftershock of what had just occurred was setting in, and in an effort to hide my reaction from my companions I laid both my weapons on the ground beside me, crouched, and balled my hands into tight fists in order to control their trembling. Despite my quick breathing, despite the icy dread that was now winding its way throughout me, my mind was still clear, and as I began to replay the recent battle over and over in my thoughts, I found myself at a revelation that made me close my eyes.

Fighting the aliens, killing them—it had been an ordeal yes, a terrifying situation that I had no wish to face again. But there was something exhilarating about it, too, something inexplicable that gave me a certain amount of pride; I was the victor despite all odds. _I_ was the one who had triumphed. I opened my eyes again, and let my gaze fall upon the nearest of the predators—Tank—where he knelt at the side of his kill, meticulously and carefully stripping the carcass of its teeth with the point of his knife blade. Was this what drove their race? I wondered then—this exultation, this satisfaction in being the one to survive in the wake of such a struggle? Being able to prove that your skills, your prowess, are superior to those of your enemy?

Perhaps that was the reason the predators hunted as they did, but for me it was a different story. In terms of pure physical strength and agility, I had nothing on either the hunters or the aliens. My survival was less a test of battle worthiness than it was a trial of luck. Without weapons, I was just anyone’s meat; knowing this, Scar and comrades had for some reason decided to bring me along anyways. Why? It was a question I both dearly desired an answer to and dreaded knowing. Everything that had befallen me so recently was a result of the goddamn mark upon my cheek that had been etched with acid by the hand of Scar … my gaze wanted to find my former savior turned abductor, but stubbornly I trained my eyes on the alien I had slaughtered where it lay in a steaming pool of its own blood. I had him to thank for all of this, I thought then with anger and resentment, and oh, how I wanted to hate him for it …

But I couldn’t. And that was the absolute crux of my situation.

I was jolted from my grim reverie by a growling bark from Tank meant to catch my attention. Done dismembering his own kill, he pointed once with his knife at the alien I had slain before sliding the blade across the uneven ground to my side. His meaning was clear—I was to take some trophies of my own. I glanced from his proffered weapon to the carcass surrounded on all sides by its caustic blood, and back to the weapon again. As much fun as separating body parts from the corpse sounded, I really didn’t want to do it. Tank snarled then, shaking his head so that his hair rattled, and gestured with more emphasis to my kill. Contemplating refusal but reluctantly realizing that by doing what he indicated I would further endear myself to he and his companions, I sighed and stooped to pick up the knife. I was fully aware that endearing myself to Scar more than I already had was actually something I should try and avoid doing, but my past experiences with angering or insulting the hunters had been alarming enough that I chose the lesser of two evils.

Knife held tight in my gloved hand, I approached my kill and knelt beside it, beyond the reaches of the blood pool. I stared at it for long moments, uncertain about what type of trophy I should attempt to gain. I’d seen Scar gather the end of the alien tails and slice off their clawed fingers from their joints, and of course I knew that teeth were a good choice too. The only problem was attaining these pieces of anatomy without getting the acid blood on myself. After brief contemplation I decided the safest route was to try for the teeth, and so I leaned awkwardly over the black carcass and nudged with some trepidation at the jaw of the alien. It remained motionless, and feeling somewhat the idiot for my foolish fear I set about trying to wrench the jaws apart.

And found that it was a lot harder than I had anticipated.

Perhaps it was rigor mortis. Perhaps it was just the alien’s dying belligerence. Whatever the reason, the long mouth of the creature was most firmly locked together, and no amount of swearing, threatening, or prying on my behalf could get it open. After a while I sat back on my heels, thoroughly frustrated and sweating slightly, and glared at the offending mass of lifeless muscle, carapace, and bone. It was a low, rasping trill that prompted me to turn my head around. Tank, still kneeling, with a string of severed alien fingers dangling from one hand, was laughing at me. Beyond him I could see Scale and Scar still occupied with their own collecting, and felt a small measure of relief that my futile attempts had been witnessed by only one of the hunters.

“Laugh it up,” I muttered, disgruntled. Maybe I’d been brought along for entertainment.

Still making his amused noise, Tank fastened his gruesome adornment to his belt, and when he stood the many fingers fell almost to his knee. He crossed the distance between us and crouched beside me, holding out a hand. Pursing my lips in irritation, I gave him back his knife. Holding it up to ensure he had my utmost attention, he trilled briefly before moving the blade to the junction of the alien’s jaws. He plunged it in to the hilt, glanced to me, and twisted the weapon to the side.

The mouth sprang open with the sound of breaking bones, a small trickle of blood leaking forth from the wound to spill over onto the ground. With another growl to ensure I was watching, Tank pulled the alien’s black, wrinkled equivalent of lips up and away from its teeth, and then with a deft movement inserted the knife at an angle. He rotated the blade a few times, and suddenly one of the long, curved fangs of the dead beast fell free. Catching it before it could fall into the caustic blood, Tank tossed it to me before holding out his weapon hilt first. Apparently, it was my turn.

Tucking the tooth into my breast pocket, I took and hoisted the knife in a fumbling manner, ignoring the snort that came from Tank, and drove the knife in above another fang. Sharp as the weapon was, I had a hard time penetrating the bone and flesh, and had to really exert myself. Once the blade was sunk hilt deep, I took a deep breath and twisted it with some difficulty, feeling the sharpness grating against flesh and bone and trying to ignore the disgusting sound that was made. I was about to give up when abruptly the tooth popped free. Catching this one as well, Tank made a noise of approval, and I smiled triumphantly at him before I realized what I was doing. Handing me the fang with one hand, clapping me hard on the back with the other, the hunter stood, and I followed suit. Upon giving him his knife I noticed Scar and Scale approaching; both had significantly more alien body parts adorning their persons than they had before.

The predators began to converse with each other, an odd mixture of hand signals and guttural sounds. Scale brought up the laser image on his arm device, and Tank stepped closer to observe it. Scar, skirting them, came to stand before me, and though his presence made me both apprehensive and relieved I remained where I was. Seeing what it was I held in my hand, he tapped the crude necklace I wore with one finger. Understanding what he meant I reached back and untied the length of wire from around my neck before holding it out to him. He took it between two fingers, I then held out the tooth which he took with a grumble. Once he’d fastened that one next to the first fang he’d given me, I removed the other from my pocket and handed it over. When he was finished, the three teeth hung side by side with the metal band riding between two.

He gave it back to me and as I bowed my head to retie it back around my neck I felt his fingers suddenly tangle themselves in the stray lengths of my hair that had escaped their bindings in the earlier struggle. To my credit, I didn’t move away as half of me wanted to. I merely raised my head and fixed him with what I hoped was an intimidating glare. His hand stilled where it was. And then his fingers tightened around one of the longer tendrils, and with an amused growl he tugged hard enough to make me splutter an objection. Releasing my hair, he stepped back, and with another glower in his direction I spun on my heel and stalked off to retrieve my weapons.

“ _Goddamnit! What the hell?”_ Said a voice— _my_ voice—from behind me, mocking me with my most recent words. This was followed immediately by Scar’s trill of laughter. Against my will, a smile crept across my face, but I managed to suppress it as I swiveled calmly and gave Scar the global gesture of annoyance. I was fairly certain he had no idea what the extended middle finger meant, but for good measure I made sure that I hurried past him to stand on the other side of Tank’s formidable bulk. A second later I noticed I was still smiling faintly, and I groaned inwardly at the implications that accompanied this.

I was enjoying the hunters’ company. Shaking my head to dispel whatever amusement lingered there, I focused on the dire situation I was in. I had been dragged down here to hunt down and slaughter a creature that was a hybrid of the two fiercest species I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter. I’d been given a mark by a predator that somehow bound me to his kind, and said predator was now harboring a certain undeniable fondness for me. I was outweighed, out-muscled and out-skilled by my traveling companions, and all I had for weapons was a retractable spear for close combat and a shotgun with very few rounds left. Why then, after taking into account all of this, did I find this little excursion less terrifying than it was entertaining? I was still afraid, appropriately so. I could still feel the lingering traces of the adrenalin that had previously flooded my system. And while originally I had been furious with Scar for doing this to me, that anger had faded somewhat, leaving me bemused and wary in its wake. But somewhere along the way I had ceased to fear the hunters, ceased seeing them as a danger, and began to think of them as allies, as comrades.

_As friends?_

_No,_ I thought inwardly, watching as Scale dispelled the laser map and gestured to Tank and Scar with one arm down the steep incline from which the aliens had come. They weren’t my friends—at least, I didn’t think Tank and Scale were. That they tolerated me I was more than aware of, and granted, they were nicer to me than Celtic had been. I was afraid to know the extent of my relationship with Scar, but I was willing to bet he was the closest thing I had to a friend down here. What was a friend anyways? How did I know what the hunters considered to be friendship?

When the hunters began to ready their weapons again, cannons moving into firing position, spears and wrist blades held ready, I decided to take stock of my own armory with the beginnings of nervousness once more. The elder’s spear was hanging again at my waist, but as I cracked open the barrel of the shotgun I was met with an unwelcome sight. There were only two rounds left, and after I’d spent them, every enemy I encountered from that point I would have to deal with in close combat.

That thought in itself was enough to effectively dissipate all remnants of amusement.

**.x.**

We resumed our trek further into the mountainous depths of Bouvetoya, Tank in the lead followed by Scale and myself with Scar bringing up the rear. I had been worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the predators once the hunt truly began, but we continued now at what I guessed to be a leisurely pace for them, and it was one I could maintain at a steady walk. We strode in silence, or as much silence as a party of our caliber could maintain, though it was still a marvel for me to witness these huge, hulking creatures moving with the grace of a stalking cat. I tried as best I could to keep quiet, and I must have managed it all right, because I received neither a rap atop the head from Scar nor irritated snarls from the other two hunters.

After quite some time the descent we’d been following leveled out, and we found ourselves standing before a circular tunnel in the wall of the enormous cavern. Opposite the passage, however, spreading out so far I could not glimpse where it ended, was a dark, still pool of water. The path we’d just traversed wound its way up and around the pool in a spiral pattern. Here and there jagged pieces of rock thrust themselves out of the water’s surface, and I was curious how deep and how cold this underground lake was. Seeing it immediately alerted me to the fact that we would find more such things as we progressed, for this was undoubtedly an enormous aquifer. Fascinated by this natural occurrence, I had taken two steps towards the water when a beckoning growl from Scar brought me up short. Sighing, I rejoined the ranks of my party, and couldn’t help but wonder what horrors awaited us as we entered the tunnel.

I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

They caught us off guard, falling from the impenetrable black depths of the tunnel roof. I had a split second to wonder why Scale’s laser map hadn’t alerted us to their presence, and then realized perhaps it had—hence our entering this tunnel. Tank went down immediately beneath the combined weight of two of the aliens; he came up in a furious rush as an explosive burst from Scar’s cannon alleviated him of one of them. Scale had been shoved hard into the wall by one of the screaming ebony creatures but had managed to ram the entire length of his elongated spear through its throat, effectively impaling it. In all the roiling chaos, in all the swift, brutal commotion, I never saw the alien leaping for me until it was too late.

It struck me hard in the side, claws digging into my clothing, into my skin, as the force of its movement sent us both hurtling out of the tunnel and back out into the large cavern. Locked together in flight, it was me who hit the ground first hard on my back and the jolt from the landing dislodged the alien, which skidded across the uneven rock with a shriek before tumbling into the water. I regained my feet as fast as I could, crying out as my body’s wounds—both old and new—vehemently protested the movement. I’d only just brought the shotgun up to bear as the alien rose from the lake in an eruption of water. Hissing, it climbed quickly onto the stony shore. It began its rush as I reflexively pulled the trigger, and the first shot struck the glossy chitin of its skull before ricocheting to the side. I had no time for dismay as the second shot struck it a glancing blow in its upper shoulder, and as it hesitated, screaming, I dropped the now useless gun and fumbled for my spear.

I freed it just as the alien lunged. The extended length struck the creature as I swung it like a club, attempting to maintain a distance. It staggered but managed to right itself quickly, and for a long moment we stood hunter to prey, human to alien, and I had all the time in the world to realize that this was going to be a battle like none I’d fought before. The alien’s tail switched to and fro, and as it revealed the long, gleaming lengths of its teeth at me I felt something akin to resolve settle within me. Either I triumphed or I died—that was the ultimatum I found myself faced with, and there was no escaping it.

In a rush of limbs it came for me, and I twisted aside before thrusting out awkwardly with the spear. An enraged and strangled shriek let me know I’d struck home. Wrenching the weapon free and stumbling back I turned to find that I’d pierced the alien through the side. Though blood was streaming in torrents from the wound, it came for me again. My arms, trembling, brought the spear up to bear.

It leapt for me again, double jaws snapping. I dropped to a crouch and rammed the spear with all I had upwards. The weapon was torn from my grasp as the alien’s kicking legs caught me in the side. I went down hard and unable to breathe; as my lungs struggled to function against the searing pain in my ribs I wondered what was taking the alien so long, for it had me now … I was effectively helpless.

I realized then that I could hear nothing, no sounds of struggle, no cries of agony. Struggling into a sitting position, unable to help the whimper that escaped my lips, I found that my enemy lay in a crumpled heap only a few feet away, my spear protruding from its midsection, buried almost to the grip. I had just climbed slowly and painfully to me feet when Scar appeared from within the tunnel, red laser sights dancing towards the alien corpse before dying away completely. Trying not to concentrate on the torture that I believed was stemming from a bruised rib, I crossed falteringly to the corpse and bent to retrieve my spear. It didn’t come free without a struggle, and when finally I held it in my hands my eyes were watering from a myriad of hurts. Scar had approached and stood several feet away, watching me intently with head tilted—gauging if I was all right? Warring within me then were several things—triumph, terror, sorrow, rage—and it was with a heavy heart I walked past him, ignoring his growl, ignoring his outstretched hand. It was only when his fingers closed around my shoulder that I halted, head bowed, unwilling to face this being that created within me so many tumultuous things.

We remained thus for long moments while I struggled with all my inner turmoil. I’d just escaped death, and yes, I was afraid, but tinting that fear was exultation and pride; I’d killed the alien on my own, without the aid of the hunters. Why wasn’t I breaking down? Why wasn’t I panicking, trying to get free of this place? Why was a part of me taking a primal, ancient satisfaction in the fact that I had proven myself not once, but twice against creatures both ferocious and deadly?

I lifted my own hand then, wincing inwardly as the movement incited bruised muscles to sing their complaints, and covered Scar’s own with it for just a moment before lifting his fingers free of my shoulder. He didn’t resist, which amused me on an ironic and grim level. We both knew his strength was much more than my own. Instead he tugged again on the same lock of hair he’d pulled before, but more gently this time, his growl rumbling softly on the air around us. And when his hand moved to my face to trace as always the mark on my cheek, I let him.

What bothered me the most was that I didn't mind his touch any longer.

**.x.**


	10. Tjau'ke

**.x.**

It was Scar who led the way back into the passage where we’d been ambushed. He didn’t take me by the arm and pull me behind him. There was no need for that now, and he knew it. I would follow willingly, and deep within the furthest reaches of my mind, a part of me was screaming frantically at that fact. _I have no other choice_ , I thought silently, desperately, knowing all the while it wasn’t the entire truth. I clenched my jaw then and purposefully cast the protesting voices back into the widening void of my thoughts so they would haunt me no more.

I had enough demons as it was.

In the tunnel we joined again with Scale and Tank. Both were upright, both were bleeding, but the growls they gave upon seeing Scar and I was enough to convince me they were alright. Steaming carcasses littered the floor, and as we approached I was careful to avoid the widening pools of alien blood. Scale gestured to me as we halted with an inquisitive noise. Scar replied with a short bark and a thump to his chest. He’d just told everyone, I knew instinctively, what I’d just done—that I’d killed another alien on my own. Seeing from the corner of my eye Tank’s arm being raised, I managed to sidestep his traditional—and painful—backslap of congratulations.

The abrupt movement pulled at my side, and I placed a hand there in order to alleviate the pain. I had no idea whether one of my ribs was bruised or not, but it felt like it. Scar had bent over one of the carcasses and was sawing fingers loose, and Tank had strode out into the cavern perhaps to look at my kill. As I stretched tentatively and probed my side gently I became aware of Scale watching in silence. Knowing weakness was frowned upon by the hunters, I stopped what I was doing and instead walked over to lean against the wall some several feet from the battle carnage. Breathing deep, I rolled up the sleeves of my jacket to see the slashes I’d sustained when the alien had tackled me. They weren’t deep, but they would leave marks, which didn’t really bother me when I considered the fact that both my arms were now and forever going to be masses of scar tissue.

Scale’s soft growl warned me of his approach, and as he stopped in front of me I eyed him warily. Of the three, I perceived Scale to be the most reserved, the most stoic. Tank was undoubtedly more exuberant than his comrades, and Scar evened out the group as a mixture of both with a sense of humor I found both bizarre and disconcertingly entertaining. Scale had something in his hand, and as he held it out open palmed in front of me I stared at it for a moment. It looked for all the world like a piece of dried meat jerky, like the kind I brought with me on my tours and expeditions. Scale rumbled quietly at my hesitation, and with some trepidation I took it from him. He didn’t move away, but watched me closely, and I knew he wasn’t going to leave until I’d at least tried this … food … he’d given me.

I tore off a piece with my teeth, and the moment the substance touched my tongue I was in agony. It tasted like chemicals, like acid, like anything I’ve ever eaten that was awful, and it was with great force of will that I managed not to gag and vomit all over Scale’s chest. Instead I closed my eyes and tried to suppress my rising gorge as I continued to chew. It was with great relief I heard Scale’s heavy footsteps recede, moving towards the other two hunters and, opening my eyes to find his back turned to me, I leaned over and hastily spit all of the vile stuff onto the floor. After several minutes I could still taste it in my mouth, but I rose and hastily stuffed the rest of the strange food into my pocket so Scale wouldn’t notice I had any left. I felt queasy now, but I supposed it would fade in time. I hoped it would. They predators weren’t going to think much of me if I was laid low by their version of food.

This incident gave rise immediately to new concerns. I had neither food nor water with me, and sooner rather than later I was going to need both. While I wasn’t entirely certain the hunter’s food could sustain me, I was willing to try it again later. The water that ran through these depths was most likely the purest a person could find upon the planet, as it stemmed from the aquifers and had yet to be contaminated. I couldn’t drink it, however, if it was as cold as I suspected, for it would lower my core temperature and while it wasn’t as chill beneath the surface as it was above it, I didn’t need to risk hypothermia above everything else I had to face.

Alien fingers attained and hanging in a macabre decoration from his waist, Scar had straightened, and together he and Scale were conversing over his own three dimensional map. From the cavern beyond Tank strode forth to join them, and I watched the three somewhat disinterestedly until an urgent noise from Scale snapped me back to attention. Even from where I stood I could see the four tiny red figures depicting us on the image, and not far from where we stood there was something larger, something motionless.

Scar dispelled the image and withdrew his spear from where it rode across his back in one fluid, effortless movement. There were two distinct, sharp noises as both of Tank’s massive blades flicked away from his arms into a ready position, and Scale had his shuriken in hand in an instant. Knowing what was happening, knowing what we would do next, it seemed as though all the complaints of my body faded, preparing me for the hell to come. I reluctantly released my own weapon from where it swung loose from my belt and gripped it so hard my knuckles turned white. If I’d been apprehensive before, it was nothing compared to the rushing tide that ripped over me now and left me breathless and trembling. One by one the predators passed me, and as Scar did so he tapped me twice on the head with his outstretched fingers with what I could only interpret as an encouraging growl. I stared after him for only a moment, trying to calm my suddenly accelerated breathing and telling myself things would be alright before hurriedly striding to catch up. And as my companions broke into a run, as I labored to keep up with them despite the ache in my ribs, I wondered why I felt the first stirrings of excitement along with absolute, unadulterated terror.

The hunt was on.

**.x.**

We ran hard and we ran fast, Scale in the lead. The passage we followed dipped and swerved, and on more than once occasion leaps had to be made to clear abrupt and deep crevices in the ground. Scar glanced repeatedly over his shoulder to ascertain I was still along for the ride, and I was both irritated and ashamed by this, but didn’t stop to dwell on it. I could only afford to focus now on what lay somewhere ahead of us, waiting, waiting …

It was when I careened around a hairpin corner and staggered into the corner that I noticed something. My collision with the tunnel wall caused a small avalanche of stones to judder loose and fall in a clatter to the ground. Pushing myself away, I’d only taken two steps towards Scar who had paused and was waiting with an impatient snarl when the world around me began to tremble. From the ceiling a pointed overhang of rock was shaken loose and fell to land at my feet with a large crash. Jumping away, I steadied myself with a hand on the opposite wall, and as Scar snarled again, as I jogged to catch up with him, I realized with cold dread that whatever part of this underground maze we were entering, it wasn’t entirely stable. The tremors faded away as I paced myself at Scar’s heels, the spear I held rising and falling with the pumping of my arms. All I could see before me was the hunter’s broad back and the rising and falling of his long hair. If something terrible lurked ahead in wait for us I was so not going to see it coming. I had no idea how far my delay had placed us behind Tank and Scale, but I hoped it wasn’t much. Holding them up probably wasn’t the best way of winning their respect.

_Just what do you care about their respect?_ Questioned that despicable voice in my head, the one that excelled in reminding me of things I’d rather forget. I ignored it, ignored the implications of what it asked, and concentrated on breathing evenly. That oh-so-familiar burn had begun in the backs of my legs, and my lungs were starting to ache from the exertion. After being in the company of the predators, I was beginning to realize how much I had been disillusioned in thinking myself to be in peak physical condition. Of course, the hunters were another species completely, built larger, stronger, and more agile than any human I had yet to encounter. I was beginning to wonder how much longer it would be until my body decided it had had enough and collapsed when Scar slowed to halt in front of me; I did the same with considerably less grace and tried to soften the great gulps of air I was taking while attempting to peer over Scar’s shoulder to see where we were.

So abruptly it made me jump, Scar’s cannon fired and he moved ahead then swiftly, spear extended and held ready to throw. Straightening, my own weapon telescoping out to its full length, I saw then that Tank and Scale had already engaged our ultimate prey in combat. The hybrid  creature stood within a small, circular cavern that was a small distance below the tunnel I still stood in. The ebony creature stood tall enough that its oblong head almost brushed the ceiling which I quickly estimated to be at least 10 feet in height, and falling forth from the crown of its skull were the long, thick strands of hair that I knew was a trait of the hunters. As Scar hurled his spear with deadly accuracy, the predalien jerked about with astounding speed and knocked the weapon from its flight with a careless flick of one long, clawed arm. It spun wildly end over end to strike the far wall harmlessly.

As one the three hunters attacked, darting forth and striking, retreating as another took their place. I remained where I was, frozen and watching the deadly dance before me with horrified awe. The predalien, which so resembled my companions but was at once undeniably altered, unmistakably different, repelled their attacks with savage viciousness. As the creature’s long, spiny tail whipped through the air to strike Tank across the back of the knees, Scale’s shuriken finally struck home and the many bladed weapon sliced a jagged line through the predalien’s shoulder before returning boomerang-like to its owner. Throwing back its head, mandibles flaring wide and jaws extending, the creature let loose a howl that shook the very walls around us as its green, steaming blood spilled forth from the wound to splatter against the ground.

Tank was climbing slowly to his feet, shaking his head. The predalien lunged for Scale then, nimbly dodging Scar’s ferocious swipe with his wrist knives. It struck Scale head on and drove him hard into the wall. The resulting impact shuddered the world around me, and I half-leapt, half-fell from the tunnel to land awkwardly in the cavern. Rocks and other debris were raining steadily from the cavern roof now, but my attention was drawn to the battle before me. Pinned by the predalien’s bulk, using both powerful arms as a guard against the creature’s wicked mouth, Scale was rendered effectively helpless. Scar was retrieving his spear, and Tank leapt into the fray with both massive blades swinging—

-the creature’s tail angled up and to the side, quivering, ready to impale Scale through the side—

-and I was moving, leaping headlong ahead, weapon raised. My spear punctured the predalien’s thigh as Tank’s blades simultaneously sliced through its side. It reared up and away from Scale, ripping the spear from my grasp and thrashing, and in an effort to dodge its flailing limbs I staggered back. Scale hurled himself at the creature then, his own wrist knives extended, and as he connected with the beast, as the force of the blow drove them together back hard into the wall, Scar leapt into the air from the side, unseen, his retrieved spear held tight against him—

And then the cavern began to quake with a strength that sent me sprawling to the ground, crying out. Tank, caught off guard, had managed to remain upright but had extended both arms for balance. Pieces and slabs of stone, large and dangerous, were falling all around us, striking the ground with brutal force and crumbling. Through the dust as the cavern collapsed in on itself, I watched as Scar twisted midair to drive his weapon down, down—the predalien, off kilter from the quaking, unknowingly batted Scar out of the air as it struggled to stay upright. Scale had been thrust away and was tottering at the brink of a small but ever widening rift that had been created in the ground behind him.

The noise was deafening, a roar that filled my ears and reverberated in my veins. I only barely managed to escape being flattened by a huge slab of rock by scampering desperately to the side. I was distantly aware of someone screaming, and realized it was me. I couldn’t avoid being struck entirely, for even with my arms held protectively over my head hard stones connected with my skull. I got my feet beneath me and tried to discern through the hazy chaos where the tunnel was when another jolt from the earth beneath me sent me reeling in the opposite direction. I felt something alive, something solid against my back and spun around—

The roof came crashing down, and heavy debris collided with me, knocking me to my back. I had only one instant to think _I’m going to die!_ before I could see no more for the sudden and total blackness surrounding me. There was one brief, razor sharp wave of pain coursing through my body—

And then nothing.

**.x.**

“Ms. Woods.”

Perhaps it was the fact that I’d been buried alive beneath tons of subterranean rock or perhaps it was a side effect of many blows to the head. Whatever it was, the voice came to me as though from a long distance, echoing slightly, and it caused my head to throb just to hear it. My body was awash in waves of pain, and I took a moment to simply lay still and feel the hurt, to try and ascertain the damage, before forcing my stinging eyes to flicker open. As I expected, it was dark. Turning my head from side to side availed me nothing. I could not penetrate the blackness, but what my vision lacked my hearing more than made up for. The constant, gentle sound of clattering stones upon stones alerted me to the very real danger I was still faced with, and with a muted moan I managed to arrange myself into a sitting position.

“Ms. Woods,” said the voice again, and still it sounded distant and vague. I turned my blind gaze towards the noise, and found myself suddenly bathed in harsh light.

Holding up a hand to shield my eyes from the glare of what seemed to be a flashlight, I asked in a hoarse rasping voice, “Who’s there?”

Who indeed? Who had followed us down here? Who had survived the cavern’s collapse to find me here? I had a sinking premonition, for there was only one person belligerent enough, persistent enough …

"Why Ms. Woods," Reed said, and now I could make out his tall, willowy form behind the light, "What a predicament you seem to be in." He was laughing at me, I realized; the bastard was genuinely enjoying my pain. He crouched down near me and shined the light towards my legs. "Tsk. Am I going to have to impose upon Ana's talents yet again for you?"

There are no real words to describe the mixture of chaotic emotion I felt then: dismay, anger, fear, bitterness at the fact that of all who could be my savior, it had to be Reed Weyland. Resolutely ignoring how battered my limbs looked in the beam of his flashlight, I tried to speak once and failed for the dryness of my throat; swallowing hard I managed to ask, “Why are you here?”

"You and your friends left a trail a mile wide." He shifted, now aiming the beam around the cavern and letting out a low whistle. "This is a remarkable place; funny how you forgot to mention what was down here." He looked down at me again, a smile tugging at his lips. "Ready to discuss my proposal now?"

“No,” I said thickly, working my jaws and tasting blood. My voice was still broken and harsh, perhaps made thus by the screaming I’d done just before the cavern’s roof had fallen in upon itself. “You don’t want any part of this, trust me.”

"Oh, you've got something on your face there," he murmured, crouching and wiping the corner of my mouth with his thumb. The hand lingered, just out of reach of my teeth. I wanted so badly to bite him. "Not doing too well, are you, Ms. Woods? It's a shame that you'll have to die down here. I'll just go look for your friends myself. I am sure we can come to some kind of agreement without you. Though the tall one—he'll have to go. He seems a bit attached to you."

It was hard to think coherently through the sudden rage and fear his words inspired, and I found myself wondering frantically where Scar and the others were. Perhaps they’d been killed in the collapse; this thought momentarily stopped my heart with something akin to despair. Shaking it aside, focusing on Reed’s half-shadowed countenance, on the mirrored, hooded depths of his eyes before me, I said slowly and with absolute conviction in order to hide my own uncertainties, “He’ll kill you.”

He leaned down and cupped the side of my face. "Not if I kill him first. While you were gone, we found a dead one down here. This invisibility contraption is really quite ingenious, isn't it?" For the first time, with rising horror, I noticed and recognized the strange, large, and awkward looking device that adorned his left forearm. Were the predators able to become invisible to each other? I honestly didn't know, as I suspected they saw at times with infrared, but what if they could go unnoticed by each other? Reed would have the ability to kill Scar if it were so …

“How will you kill him?” I asked then with no small amount of derision. I’d seen how much damage the hunters could take, and though Reed had an inkling of their total power I doubted he knew exactly what kind of punishment they could withstand. At least, I was hoping he didn’t know.

As if he heard my thoughts, he grinned. "I'm sure they can't withstand the loss of their heads. Before you woke up, I took the liberty of setting up a bit of a trap for our hulking friend." He brushed a piece of debris off my forehead and motioned toward the entrance of the chamber. I could see the dim red glow of a laser array fade to blackness. "A push of the button and it's goodnight. All we have to do is figure out how to lure them. What do you think?" There was a mad glint in his eye as he hefted the spear the elder had given me. It extended with a snap, the blade wicked and jagged in the dim light. He flipped it over until the point rested above my navel. "I hear a stomach wound is the most painful. Scream loudly, Ms Woods; we only have one chance at this."

The weapon plunged down, and I did as he ordered. I screamed.

**.x.**

_Dying—_

I was sitting bolt upright, clutching my midsection, a sound of utter pain and terror emanating from my mouth. He was hurting me, he was _killing_ me—

A growl then, from somewhere beside me, but I couldn’t comprehend this. It was only when I felt cold, leathery fingers close over my shoulder and heard a growling trill that was familiar that I realized I was okay, that I wasn’t hurt. Lifting my shaking hands away from my middle, I stared down to find that I was indeed intact and whole, that I hadn’t been impaled on the end of my own spear … I turned my head then to find Scar crouched at my shoulder, masked head tilted to the side, metal banded hair falling over his chest. I let out a thankful sob and ran a still trembling hand over my face.

I’d been dreaming.

There was silence then, as I stretched my body to find that I had no bones broken, but most of my anatomy was informing me in one way or another that it hurt, and it hurt bad. Furiously blinking back tears of mingled relief, pain, and fear, stifling another sob, I stared around me, wondering how the hell I’d survived. We were currently in a very small area of what I presumed was the former cavern. All around us were piles of stone and dust, effectively trapping us here. It was dimly lit, but enough so that I could see somewhat clearly. Sniffling despite myself, I attempted to arrange my aching limbs into a position that would get me to my feet, but was halted by Scar’s grip on my shoulder tightening. I sagged back resignedly. I didn’t really want to get up anyways. What I wanted was to curl up into a little ball and forget where I was, what I was doing here, and who I was here with.

The latter wouldn’t be easy, I realized, as Scar loosed his grip and instead moved around to crouch in front of me. I wondered how he’d survived, how we’d both managed to be trapped in the same space, but all my curiosity vanished as he reached up and slowly disconnected the two small hoses from the side of his mask. Immediately a puff of vapor rose up on the air, and with my heart in my throat I watched wide eyed as he lifted the faceplate up and away. I already knew what to expect, for I’d seen both Celtic and the predator elder up close and unmasked, but this was different somehow. As he lay his mask on the ground at his side I studied the strange, unique features—the four mandibles framing his toothy maw which now moved slightly, non-threateningly, the deep set and disturbingly piercing amber eyes that regarded me steadily (gauging my reaction?), the mottled, reptilian skin marred by the mark on his brow—the same mark I bore. He was intimidating, yes, but not frightening, although once upon a time he would have been. I felt instead an odd sense of relief, for we were equals now, face to face …

His chittering growl, clearer now that it wasn’t muffled by his mask, rose on the air, and I realized he was waiting for me to do something. What does one say in situations such as this? Hell if I knew, and hating the awkwardness I now felt I reached out and did the only thing I could think of doing. My fingers found an errant lock of his hair, wrapped themselves around it, and tugged. Immediately his trill of amusement burbled forth, and I hid the smile I wished I wasn’t smiling. Letting loose his hair, I let my hand fall back to my lap, and noticed then the blue gel smeared along a rough looking gash on his forearm. There was some along the lower part of his abdomen, too, which meant we’d been here long enough for him to treat his own wounds.

I glanced behind me, searching for a place to lean against because my head was throbbing now in harmony with the rest of my body. Slowly, agonizingly, I scooted backwards until what remained of the smooth portion of the cavern wall was firm against my back. Letting my head rest on the stone, I looked around me again with a bleak sigh. This was one hell of a predicament, so why was it I didn’t feel all that worried? My eyes wandered back to the hunter that still knelt where I’d left him—ah yes, that was why I wasn’t really concerned. His demeanor wasn’t one of apprehension, so obviously he knew we could escape this situation. Or so I hoped.

“What do we do now?” I asked tiredly, my voice sounding rough as it had in my dream. Memories of that nightmare rose up suddenly, but I firmly locked them away.

Grumbling, Scar left his mask lying where it was, gaining his feet and coming to my side. He settled himself down beside me, maintaining a distance that I was suddenly absurdly grateful for, careful not to touch me. He removed something from a small pouch at his side and handed it to me; seeing it to be more of the dried substance Scale had gifted me with earlier I shook my head vehemently.

“No. No thank you.” I said when he protested with a growl, lower mandibles flaring slightly. Just the recollection of what it tasted like made my stomach heave. Finally, with an exasperated snort, Scar placed the stuff back where he’d found it, and relieved I let my head fall back once more against the wall. I pondered for a moment why we weren’t moving, why we weren’t attempting escape from this small prison. Perhaps Scar felt as I did, which was weary, battered, and somewhat broken. Perhaps he was allowing this brief recess so that we could regain our strength. I thought then of Tank and Scale and wondered how they had fared. Were they still alive? And the predalien—had it been crushed to death? I hoped it had been, although I was aware that such a demise would be disappointing to the predators as they had after all come all the way down here just to hunt it.

I watched through heavy lidded eyes as Scar withdrew his shuriken from his waist and triggered it so all the blades extended. From another place this time unseen by me he produced a large grey flat stone and began to carefully sharpen the shuriken. The sound the stone made as it honed the razor edges was almost soothing. It occurred to me that it was incongruous that I should think such when seated next to me was an eight foot killing machine. I couldn’t help the weariness that descended upon me, nor did I care to. I was exhausted and hurting and all I wanted was rest, however little. I didn’t realize my eyes had closed until my head fell forward over my chest. Blinking, I jerked it upright and turned to see Scar watching, rumbling softly with laughter.

“I’m tired,” I muttered defensively, rubbing at my aching eyes.

He grumbled something then, but I didn’t bother paying attention. When I felt his bulk settle close to me suddenly, however, I made a noise of protest. Our bodies were touching, but he merely picked up his shuriken and whetstone and began again the task of sharpening his weapon. I stared at him with mingled suspicion and nervousness for a moment. Being trapped alone with a predator that I was almost certain had affection for me gave way to all sorts of unpleasant visions in my head. Several minutes passed and he effectively ignored me. Confused and a little irritated I closed my eyes and leaned back once more.

Minutes later, I came awake slowly, eyes focusing on the knife Scar now held and was steadfastly sharpening. It took me a moment to realize my head was resting against his arm. Withdrawing so quickly it hurt I felt a furious blush creep into my cheeks. Scar had paused in what he was doing. I glanced up and met his even yellow gaze, and then with a short rumble he turned his attention again to his weapon. He hadn’t threatened me, nor had he made any disparaging motions. Sudden insight made me feel slightly sheepish, for he simply acknowledged that I was weary and had moved closer by way of offering me a place to rest my head.

Biting my lip, torn by this seemingly incongruous gesture, I warred with myself for several minutes. Finally, with an audible sigh, I settled back against the wall and let my head rest against his arm. He continued with his task, every now and then emitting a chitter or growl, and it was to those sounds I let myself drift away.

Before I was totally lost to the oblivion promised by sleep, insidious voices clamored to be heard, telling me that I shouldn’t be doing this, that I should be afraid and angry, alarmed by my behavior. And for once, I didn’t care what they had to say.

**.x.**


	11. Ell-osde' pauk

**.x.**

I was pulled from sleep by a singular rap atop my head and a brief, barking growl. Blinking slowly, grimacing at the dryness of my throat, it took me a moment to realize I was now leaning completely against the solid frame of my hunter companion. Embarassed, flustered, I straightened with as much dignity I could muster and tried to ignore the soft, gravely trill of Scar’s that I equated with a chuckle. It was nice to know he was entertained, because I had no idea anymore how I felt about this … situation. Rubbing at my eyes, which felt gritty with weariness, I found that I hurt, was ravenously hungry and desperately thirsty. The fact that I had none of the remedies for any of these problems was depressing, and so with a weary, resigned sigh I set about trying to stand.

Muscles stiff and cramped from being through the cave-in and sitting for God-knew-how-long in one position vehemently protested my decision, but with a great deal of silent cursing and careful, slow movements I managed to get my legs beneath me. I was aware I was being observed, which was the reason for my silence; however obvious it was that I hurt, I wasn’t going to indicate it further by adding vocal complaint. I began to pace to and fro, willing my body to loosen its tight muscles. When finally I could bend my knees without too much resistance I stopped and looked to Scar, wondering again how the hell we were going to get out of our current prison.

The predator had apparently finished sharpening all his weapons, for they were all now in their appropriate locations. He came to his feet with an easy quickness that belied his large form and strode to where his mask lay. Crouching to retrieve it he glanced up at me with his unnerving amber eyes as I looked on in interest. His lower mandibles moved slightly as he chittered, and without further ado he reattached the mask, connecting the two small hoses to the upper right side with the hiss of pressurized air. Standing, he took from across his back his spear and tossed it to me. I caught it with a murmured thanks, grateful since I had lost my own in the struggle with the predalien.

I watched as Scar moved to the furthest corner of the chamber we were now trapped in, speculating as to how he’d manage to get us out of here. An instant later his cannon moved into firing position over his shoulder, and I was suddenly blinded by a flash of brilliant blue. Trying to see past the dots dancing in my vision, I eventually gave up and covered my eyes as the cannon fired several more times in even succession. When the noise from the last explosion died and I heard the whine of the cannon settling back against Scar’s back, I opened my eyes, and after a moment my vision cleared enough to see that a large hole had been half-blasted, half-melted in the wall of fallen rock directly before the hunter.

Scar glanced back at me with a questioning growl, and I nodded my affirmation that yes, I was ready to proceed. He stepped through the hissing, steaming makeshift doorway, being careful not to touch the still hot sides, and I followed with even more caution. What we entered was the remnants of the chamber we’d encountered the predalien in—I could tell by the half-buried tunnel in the far wall. The air was thick and heavy here, as it had been in our small prison. It was dim and dust, unsettled by the cavern collapse, swirled about on whatever slight current of air managed to find its way in here. There was no sign anywhere of either my other two predator companions or the predalien, but laying not several paces from me was one of the hunter’s shurikens, blades still extended in a circular array. Spotting it, Scar moved to retrieve it with a growl, retracting the blades and attaching it to his belt. I wondered then if Tank and Scale still lived, and was not just a little surprised to find that I fervently hoped they did.

My lips flattened into a thin, displeased line at this small revelation; I was concerned for their well-being. Oh, how far I had fallen …

Scar had moved to the tunnel entrance from which we had originally entered this chamber. He beckoned me to follow with one finger and I obeyed, wondering why we were backtracking but then recalling the myriad of different passage entrances we had neglected in choosing this path. It was a tight fit for Scar to slip past the boulders and pieces of stone that half obscured the entrance; I made it through easily. Once we stood in the rough-hewn corridor beyond Scar flipped open his arm device and pressed with one finger a symbol I couldn’t decipher. Instantly a red laser holograph struggled to manifest itself, but after several moments of phasing in and out of existence it died away altogether. The hunter made a distinctly unhappy noise, tapping several other, equally foreign glyphs in quick succession, but to no avail. With a final, disgusted snarl Scar ripped the device from his arm and hurled it into the room behind us before stalking ahead, irritation radiating from his every step. Torn between grinning at his somewhat comic disgruntlement and being overly wary of his current mood, I hastened after him.

The pace he set was not a hard one for me to maintain, and we retraced our steps to one of the many intersections we’d come across on our original journey. Without hesitation Scar opted for the right path, and onward we marched. Like the others, this particular passage dipped and rose, twisted and turned, and even though I had no idea which direction we had first been headed I became quite thoroughly disoriented. Did Scar have any idea at all where we were going? I didn’t really think so and suspected we were traveling on the basis we would have to eventually encounter something. Thinking of just what that something could possibly be made me distinctly nervous. Every now and then he would pause in his steps and tilt his head as he considered the paths before us and I wondered which we were currently searching for—friend or foe?

At one of the proverbial forks in the road he stopped for an extended length of time. Quite obviously he was attempting to make a decision of some importance, and so I stood quietly at his side and listened to the occasional low, ponderous grumble he would emit. Having apparently come to a final conclusion, he turned to me and indicated the tunnel to the left of us with one closed fist. I stared in the direction he pointed, nodding. Left it would be, then. When he shook his head with a chitter and gestured to me before again indicating the left path, however, I felt my eyes widen with incredulity.

“You want me to go in there _alone_?” I demanded, my voice rising slightly.

The noise he made then was one of impatience and authority, and I knew then that there really was no argument over this issue. It was obvious to me at that moment that we were seeking the other predators, and that the only reason he would direct me to do this was because we stood a better chance of finding them on our own … I nodded then, swallowing hard, for this sudden prospect was both highly unappealing and absolutely terrifying. I stared into the darkened depths of the path Scar had chosen for me with an almost overwhelming sense of foreboding.

 I really did not want to go in there.

Scar’s hand on my shoulder was somewhat reassuring, for obviously he respected me enough to believe I could handle myself on my own against whatever I could encounter. Although gratified by this, it wasn’t enough to dispel my fear, and I clutched my spear tight with both hands before taking several deep breaths. A rough trill came from Scar, and his fingers squeezed my shoulder just once, gently, before falling away altogether. I turned to him again, watching as he held his now closed fist out to the right, to the passage opposite the one I was about to depart down, and then pointed at himself with a thumb. I nodded once more. He dipped his head once to me, reached out to lightly pat my mark, and turned and stalked into the tunnel.

Left suddenly alone, I contemplated only briefly running wildly after him. With a sigh of grim resignation I swiveled back around, steeled my nerve, and entered my own chosen path. I prayed that I would find Tank or Scale while simultaneously hoping with all I had that the predalien was dead and buried beneath the tons of rubble I’d witnessed fall.

I almost snorted. My luck wasn’t that good. It never had been.

**.x.**

It was almost amusing, how much I took danger for granted when traveling with Scar and comrades. Alone, aware of how helpless I was by being so, every step I took was one that fairly quivered in trepidation. I expected at every turn submersed in shadows I could not penetrate some loathsome, detestable beast to lunge out at me. _Relax, Lex_ , I told myself, eyes scanning frantically to and fro. _You’ve killed things, powerful things …_

_Things that even now are most likely stalking your every steps,_ chimed in the negative part of my subconscious, and I found myself wishing it were a physical manifestation so I could punish it, hurt it, for making me think about things I really didn’t want to think about.

I kept walking with all the determination I could muster, which admittedly wasn’t much. My spear I held in both hands before me, reading to extend it at the first signs of trouble. I measured time by counting my steps. Somewhere around four hundred I caught sight of something in the dark ahead of me and came to a halt, squinting. It was illumination of some type, flaring and disappearing repeatedly from around a corner, and holding my breath I wondered if I should retreat. After a moment I crept forward, desperately curious despite myself; perhaps this phenomenon belonged in some manner to Tank or Scale …?

Too late I realized that the elusive flashes I was seeing were the beams of flashlights, and too late did I hear the hushed whispers of human voices. Even as I stopped dead in my tracks, even as I began to back away steadily, quietly, I knew what lurked just around the corner ahead. _Don’t let them find me_ , I plead silently, desperately. An instant later figures emerged from the shadows, unmistakably human and rounding the bend; I was suddenly awash in a blinding rush of light.

“You there!” Shouted a voice I didn’t recognize. “Who are you?”

I shielded my eyes with one hand, the other tightly gripping my spear. “Who are _you?”_ I yelled in return, although with a sinking sensation I feared I knew the answer.

"Ms. Woods!" Reed's voice called. "What a surprise." The inflection he added into the last part of his sentence let me know that it really wasn’t a surprise at all. I could see him at the head of the group, silhouetted. A muscle in my stomach twitched abruptly and painfully as I recalled the dream and the all-too-believable way it had ended with vivid clarity.

Instead of replying I whirled about, intent on fleeing further into this cavernous maze and away from Reed Weyland and whatever inevitably unpleasant purpose had brought him down here. I hadn’t made it but three steps when I heard the unmistakable sound of a gun safety being switched off. Reed’s words rang out a moment later with unarguable authority.

"Stay here if they come this way," he ordered whoever it was that had accompanied him, then a set of heavy footfalls pursued me. Whatever he did now as head of a corporation, he hadn't been a slouch where military training was concerned. I kept expecting him to fall back at some point, hoped he would lag behind, but the bastard was gaining on me. I had a choice at one point – the tunnel split and I knew the automatic human response was to go to the right. I chose the left and prayed the shadows would hide me.

His footsteps slowed, became more deliberate. "Lex, Lex, Lex," he said, using my given name for the first time. "Come now, I just want to talk to you." The beam of his flashlight swept the tunnels, first one, then the other. I molded my body against the curve of the wall, hardly daring to breathe. "We have so much to discuss. Not the least of which," he ducked his head and moved a step into the tunnel I was in, "is why you left without saying goodbye." He withdrew and did the same to the other tunnel, judging by the sound of his voice. "I was very put out. And here I was going to invite you to dinner."

We both froze at the sound of something further down the other tunnel, gravel sifting or something clattering lightly to the floor. I could feel satisfaction radiating from him, even when he was silent. He moved like a hunter, not as graceful as Scar, but deadly nonetheless. "Lex," he murmured, the very tone he used sending a shiver up my spine, and then he was gone down the other tunnel.

For a moment I remained motionless, eyes closed in absolute frustration. Whatever was down that tunnel, whatever Reed was in the process of tracking now, may or may not have been one of the three hunters. If it was, and if he found them then he would radio the rest of his team, and armed to the teeth they would come for the sole purpose of slaughtering the predators for their technology. Even now I had my doubts that they could succeed, for I had seen Scar and comrades in action, and I knew that they were fierce beyond anything ever imagined in this world. A part of me yearned to see the clash, to see Scar, Scale and Tank rip apart Reed and shred him into insignificant pieces of nothingness, but it was my conscience, the conscience I was by this point really beginning to detest, that made my ultimate decision for me. Should Reed find one of the hunters there was a risk, however slight, that said hunter would be eventually overcome, and I simply could not let that happen. With a whispered, fervent curse I pushed myself away from the wall, tightened my already aching fingers around the haft of my spear, and began to run haphazardly through the darkness into the other tunnel.

I could see very little and I could hear very little beyond my own somewhat frantic steps and labored breathing. As I narrowly avoided tripping headlong over an upright stalagmite I flicked my finger against the indent on my spear, and the sound it made as it telescoped into its full length filled my ears.

Something struck me hard from the side, shaping itself out of the shadows and taking me down, down. And as I struck the earth, as I felt somebody straddle me, pin me—as I felt hands wrench the spear from my grasp with brutal strength, I realized with a swift and piercing dismay that I’d played right into Reed’s hands.

“Tricked you,” came his voice, taunting with all the triumph of a schoolyard bully and eerily detached from his darkened form where it loomed above me. I kicked and squirmed, reaching with my hands for his face, for his eyes, wanting to inflict an unholy amount of my wrath upon him and inwardly panicking. There was no predator around to assist me this time …

"You're really worried about them, aren't you?" he laughed, incredulous. His body was a heavy weight on mine. "Those ungodly-ugly things."

Suddenly both of my wrists were trapped by his hands, forced down and out so I had no leverage to move. Had I thought I was a good fighter? I couldn't even push him away, and my spear was out of reach. Reed moved down; I could feel him getting closer even in the darkness. "Now, let's talk about your future, Lex," he breathed, putting his weight on his arms and thus, my wrists. "The others know to look for alien friends; you’re not needed any more. You're completely expendable. Convince me to let you live."

The exertion I’d put up trying to dislodge him had left me suddenly winded. I could kill aliens and even wound predators, but I couldn’t get rid of this cretin, this vile sack of flesh, this _parasite._ The irony was enough to bring the harsh laughter of self-loathing to my throat. I forced it back down and stared up into the insidious gaze of Reed that I could not see, but could most definitely feel.

“You’ll kill me either way,” I whispered then, for I was fairly certain that would be the way it all would end.

I could feel him shrug. "Maybe. It all depends on you. I admit, it seems...wasteful, to kill you. After all, I don't want to seem ungrateful. That, and the prospect of sleeping with someone who wants me dead has a certain appeal ..."

I choked then. Perhaps it was to smother a rude noise, or perhaps my way of controlling my gag reflex. He chuckled at this, and when I could speak again I said with no small amount of venom, “You are out of your mind, Reed. I would never—”

He cut me off then, his words spilling intrusively over my own. "Never say never, Lex. No, no, don't argue with me, I know you hate me. That's half the fun. You're so easy to control." He shifted his position. "How about we discuss this later? We have things to take care of down here first."

“It won't happen!” I spat at him, my loathing and utter hatred of this man inciting my fury to roar greater than it ever had before. “They’ll kill you first!”

The amused sound he made at this only fueled my rage, and with all my might I bucked up and twisted. Feeling him come slightly off center I ripped one wrist free from his grip and swung blindly for his head. I connected and the impact juddered painfully down the length of my arm, but I ignored the sensation and instead focused on the man above me. I’d apparently caused some harm, for his other hand came free from my wrist to clutch at his face. Vindictive satisfaction filled me then and with both hands flat on his chest I shoved as hard as I could, and he toppled from me to land sprawled on his back. I got to my feet swiftly, but so did he. Out of desperation I kicked out solidly, and had the distinct pleasure of feeling my foot impact squarely with his groin.

_“Bitch!”_ To his credit, he didn’t fall, but when he lunged for me it was clumsily, and I sidestepped to avoid him. Frantic, I stooped to retrieve my spear and didn’t bother risking a backwards glance as I took off at a dead run further into the tunnel. Instead of instant pursuit I heard the crackling of a two-way radio, and knew then that he was summoning his reinforcements. There was no denying it now, for if they caught me I was most certainly a dead woman, and so despite the solid aching in my limbs, despite the throbbing agony of my tired lungs I ran ever forward, wishing, praying I’d find an ally somewhere in this labyrinth.

And quite suddenly I stumbled out of the tunnel and into a long, oval shaped room, and it was then I realized that you don’t always get what you wish for.

Scar was here, yes, but he wasn’t alone. He was locked in a grapple with the predalien, and from the looks of the many rivulets of neon green that painted his body, he was fighting a losing battle. He held no weapons I could see. I spied an instant later his shoulder cannon lying on the floor some several feet from me and a shuriken embedded firmly in the wall to my left. One of his powerful arms was acting as a barrier, holding the predalien’s slavering jaws up and away from his own head. The other arm, wrist blades fully extended from his gauntlet, was gripping the wrist of the predalien, attempting to prevent the claws from raking his body more than they already had.

The predalien’s long tail whipped about, spewing acid blood in its erratic wake and I saw suddenly that Scar had somehow severed a decent length of it. No longer could it be used to impale, but that wasn’t really the issue anymore. The stalemate between the two combatants suddenly broke, as with a roar Scar surged forwards, ramming the body of his opponent into the cavern wall. The impact shuddered stones loose. Using his forearm now to pin the predalien by the neck, Scar lifted his wrist blades, preparing to slice the underbelly of the beast open—

A thunderous explosion sounded from behind me, causing me to fall forward in shock. Landing on my hands and knees, I looked up bewildered to see Scar totter on his feet and then stumble backwards, blood gushing up from a cluster of small holes punched through his lower back—

Even as I screamed, even as I came to my feet and lunged unthinking forward, another loud roar filled the chamber, and I watched as Scar’s body jerked from the impact of the shot, more blood erupting. He staggered back and came up roughly against the stone wall, and the echoing cry that came from him was one of utter pain and fury. The predalien, instead of pursuing his now grievously wounded opponent, had focused on the origin of the new attack, and knowing what I’d find I spun around anyways.

Reed stood just within the entrance of the tunnel I’d only just left, a military issue shotgun similar to the one I’d wielded once before held secure in both hands. As he lifted his head away from the sights he smiled at me, and it was a vicious, malevolent movement of the lips. “Thanks,” he said, and for a moment I lost complete focus as I threw myself at him.

I was close enough he didn’t have time to get another shot off. As my body crashed into his we struck first the wall and then rolled to the ground. It was imperative, a part of me not clouded by insane loathing knew, that I not wind up on the bottom—I smashed the heel of my palm into his face even as he swung the butt of the shotgun at my jaw. My head snapped back from the blow and for a moment my vision danced with spots. When I could see again I was sprawled face down on the floor, and Reed was walking out into the chamber with his shotgun again raised and ready to aim.

“ _Reed!”_ I screamed, and was somewhat surprised when he actually halted and half turned his head at the sound of my voice.

"In a second, Lex," he said in a calm, almost singsong voice. His eyes snapped back to the predalien, which appeared to be sizing up its new opponent. "I have a few things on my plate at the moment."

His statement was true, although not to extent he thought it to be, for Scar had chosen to use my distraction as an opportunity and had hurtled full tilt for Reed. Reed saw him coming, was in fact diving to the side to avoid him when he struck. the force with which he did so had them both airborne. What occurred next was a sequence of events so swift I could barely follow—Scar reared up over Reed’s stunned form, ready to impale him—

The predalien, having decided that the hunter was the deadliest of the three targets it was now presented with, gripped Scar by one arm and hurled him with incredible force to the rear of the chamber. The wall dissolved under the impact; and as Scar disappeared from view the entire room began to tremble, to quake in the manner I was by now familiar with. Screaming, the predalien leapt through the falling debris after Scar. As I made to rush after them I was brought up short by the barrel of a shotgun.

"Tsk," said Reed. He growled at the falling debris, then caught my wrist in his hand again with a lightning movement. Without another word, he was dragging me across to the other exit, since the one we'd come in was already blocked. _I wanted to follow Scar!_ I pulled against his grip—

I found myself jerked forward, the shotgun pressed up against my back all without him losing stride. "MOVE," he commanded, pushing me along now to the relative safety of the exit. Safety, right, as if any place in this hellhole could be called safe.

A large slab of stone fell between us then, striking me on the shoulder and driving me forwards and down. I scrambled to my feet, glancing behind me. Reed was on his back and in obvious pain, but was attempting to rise …

I ran to him and stomped down hard on his outstretched wrist, savoring the sensation of bones grinding beneath my heel. He screamed, a sound pleasing to my ears in my current state of mind. As he thrashed about I stooped and secured his fallen shotgun and without further hesitation bolted headlong down the tunnel. The thunder of the collapsing cavern followed me, and I hoped with savage fervor that Reed was buried and crushed beneath the tons of subterranean stone.

And as the noise faded, as I continued running blindly, heedlessly, I wondered if Scar was still alive, and the piercing sorrow I felt realizing he may not have survived chilled me to the core.

**.x.**


	12. S'yuit-de

**.x.**

For a long while I ran, slowing at intervals into a stumbling walk, glancing fearfully behind me and expecting to find Reed or something just as vile in hot pursuit. Luck, it seemed, was with me this once, and when my chest heaved with gasping breaths and my muscles burned, I deemed it safe enough finally for me to halt. Leaning heavily on the wall, shotgun resting against the floor, I closed my eyes and tried to gather all the thoughts roiling in frantic turmoil throughout my mind. What had begun as a dangerous expedition had become infinitely more deadly in the span of less than an hour and of the four of us to have entered these caves, the only one I knew for certain was alive was myself. Images of Scar battling the predalien, of the sound he made after Reed shot him replayed themselves over and over, and I tried hard to banish the heavy, oppressive sorrow that washed over me as I realized he may even now be dead. _Worry about yourself_ , the cold, detached and clinical part of me said, _worry about getting out of here alive_ …

But even as I pushed myself away from the wall and began to walk forth once more, the sorrow lingered on the fringes of my mind, refusing to be kept at bay. I could no longer, it seemed, deny the fact that I had developed some sort of affection for Scar. Bothered to the extreme by this revelation I wandered then aimlessly, only vaguely aware of my environment, turning as my path dictated I should. I was fast becoming overwhelmed by all that was causing my life to spiral steadily out of control—the hunt we had embarked on that was fast becoming suicidal, I had lost track of all my comrades, Reed was in pursuit of any and all of us, and Scar could be dead or dying …

I shook my head then against the sudden pang I felt, gritted my teeth, and resolutely focused on my surroundings and only my surroundings. Time enough for regrets, for self-recriminations when I was free of this place. And so I continued onwards through a meandering tunnel that would widen and narrow at random, and tried not to think about what on earth I would do with my life once I escaped. When I rounded a bend and found myself facing the eight-foot massive frame of Tank, the first and only thing I could do was stare at him in sudden and absolute disbelief.

“You’re not dead,” I said dumbly after a moment. The hunter made an inquisitive noise, stepping closer and as he did so I was able to see the blue gel smeared in many places upon his body mingled with the vivid fluorescence of his blood. His cannon was still intact, lying inactive across his back, and both his large blades were lying dormant against his forearms. He grumbled at me again, clearly wondering what had happened to Scar, and I shook my head wondering how I’d explain all that had transpired in his absence.

“We were separated,” I said, watching as he reached out to remove the shotgun from my grasp and lift it to eye level; he turned it from side to side, scrutinizing, and when he abruptly turned and hurled it into the tunnel’s darkness from whence he had originated, I let out a furious cry.

“I need that!”

He silenced the rest of my protests with a loud snarl, holding one hand out before me in a gesture meant to silence and reaching with the other behind him to remove something that was attached to his back. What he held out to me then was a spear—the spear given to me by the hunter elder, the spear I had lost in the first cave-in after encountering the predalien. While I was somewhat mollified by the fact he’d returned it to me, I was a trifle pissed that he’d seen fit to toss the shotgun—a weapon I felt considerably more safer with than when wielding than the spear—away as though it were trash.

“Jerk,” I muttered, which promptly earned me a light slap upside the head. Apparently he understood me well enough to know when he was being insulted. His reprimand was so reminiscent of something that Scar would do that I found myself once again besieged by despair and worry. Driven by this, I wondered immediately where Scale was, and if he’d survived, and so I gave voice to my question. “Were you separated from … Scale?”

I felt stupid using the name I’d given the other hunter, but what else was I to call him? Tank tilted his head for a moment, considering, before putting his two fists together side by side and then swiftly drawing them apart. He was telling me, I understood after a moment, that he and Scale had indeed been separated. He gestured to me and then thumbed himself on the chest before pointing to another passage entrance some hundred feet to the forward left of us, and his meaning was clear: together we would continue on, and search for the others we’d lost. I nodded once, grimly, studiously avoiding thinking about whether the two we would now look for were dead or alive.

With the slight flexing of a muscle, Tank caused his left arm blade to spring into its outright position, the process for all the world resembling that of a giant switchblade. He tapped the end of my spear with one thick finger, giving a meaningful growl, and I nodded again before hitting the indent that elongated my weapon into its true form. As he stepped past me to lead the way on our new path, I glanced longingly in the direction he had thrown the shotgun. Half turning and seeing the direction of my gaze, Tank gave a warning rumble, and with a resigned sigh I trudged after him.

**.x.**

For hours Tank and I walked, he in the lead and I in the rear. We maintained for the most part absolute silence, although from time to time the predator would emit a low trill or grunt that let me know he was thinking carefully. It was somewhat curious, I found myself thinking, that we hadn’t yet encountered any more of the aliens, and then I began to try and calculate how many total I’d seen slain. There could only be so many in accordance with the number of human hosts they’d erupted from; my math was interrupted when suddenly Tank slowed to a halt in front of me, falling into a swift and graceful crouch that set his long, metal banded hair clattering back and forth. He began to examine something on the ground before him with intense scrutiny.

I eased around him, peering over his broad shoulder to see what it was that had caught his attention. There before him was a small puddle of neon green liquid—the blood of a fellow hunter. He dipped two fingers into and it and raised it up before his face, and the noise that left him then promised much in the way of pain to whatever hostile creatures we may encounter along our way. Wiping the blood free from his fingers along the stone of the corridor floor, he poked then at an almost similar green yet extremely viscous fluid pooled close to the blood. I had a sneaking suspicion as to what it was, and so when Tank beckoned to me to hand over my spear I did so without complaint. I watched as he scooped up some of the strange substance on the head of the weapon and brought it in close for inspection. I straightened and turned on the spot, scouting the area around us with sudden unease. Tank growled softly behind me, studying this newest evidence, and almost painfully alert now I left his side and began to walk further down the tunnel, scanning the floor for more blood. I wouldn’t go far, I told myself, because bad things always happened when I did—

And then I took one step around a hairpin corner, and once again I found myself facing Reed over the barrel of yet another shotgun.

Though I couldn’t see his expression for the shadows engulfing him, I was almost certain he was smiling that smug, condescending smile of his. From what I could make out in the lack of light, the wrist I'd broken was set in some manner of temporary splint/cast that I had seen before in first aid kits. Apparently, he'd found his team again because he held his weapon in one hand and had set the barrel across the length of his injured arm for leverage. I wasn't naive enough to think that his broken wrist made him any less deadly, and I was both utterly dismayed and unsurprised to see him here now; someone this loathsome and persistent would of course manage to survive being buried under tons of rockfall which was, in my humble opinion, a death too good for him. No, it wasn’t in any manner surprising he had survived to further plague my life, but it didn’t change the fact that I wished he’d suffered a gruesome and torturously slow death.

When he spoke, his droll and subtly malicious tone hinted at the fact that he knew exactly what I was thinking. "I'm harder to kill than you think," he said, advancing. The barrel of the gun dug into my breastbone, forcing me back. He moved out of the shadows, mock hurt showing on his face. "You didn't even ask if I was all right. I'm crushed." He smirked, then, as if aware of the irony in his last statement.

With the rock wall of the passage at my back I could go no further. Wondering frantically how I was going to escape this mess I became aware that the steady, consistent rumbling of Tank in the chamber only a few feet behind me had ceased. Feeling a rush of hope because I had an ally Reed knew nothing about, I wrapped the fingers of one hand around the gun barrel and was about to shove it aside when he spoke again.

"I am growing very tired of chasing you around, Lex. Honestly, one would think you didn't like me." He chuckled. "You know what I find absolutely fascinating?"

“No,” I replied flatly, pushing the barrel away. He let me. “But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

He merely stood there. I was expecting him to make a move, but he just looked at me. "The fact that we are down here, in the middle of an underground maze filled with all kinds of violent, terrible aliens, and yet I am the thing you seem most afraid of." He sounded pleased. "You have no idea what that does for my ego."

I almost laughed at that. Almost. “You’re not the only thing I’m afraid of, Reed. But you are the thing I hate most.”

He stalked forward. "Such honesty. And that is why I haven't killed you already," he murmured, "Lex."

There he was again, blatantly invading my personal space. I wondered somewhat desperately where Tank was, and if he was even aware the situation I was now in. I made to step away from the wall, but Reed shoved me roughly back with the barrel of his shotgun. “Back off,” I snarled, attempting to shove him, to try and strike his injured wrist. My efforts earned me a sharp jab in my ribs with the gun, and at the sharp flare of pain I almost doubled over. Clutching my side, I glared up at him with eyes that threatened to water and silently beseeched the predator I knew was somewhere in the vicinity to come to my aid _fast._

"You don't seem to be at your best," said Reed with that false concern I'd grown to loathe. At this distance, I could tell he wasn't at a hundred percent himself, but somehow the rockslide earlier had merely trapped him without injuring him beyond surface scrapes. Damn him for being lucky. "Anything I can do to help?"

“You dropping dead would make me feel better,” I snapped, straightening and realizing that perhaps it hadn’t been prudent earlier to not go after the shotgun Tank had discarded. My spear was still with said hunter, and as I cursed him in that instant I caught a glimpse of something rippling, something convoluting the scenery behind off to the right of where we stood, and the rush of relief I felt then was almost staggering. I kept my eyes trained on the man before me. I would not reveal Tank’s presence to him, and so I said with as much venom as I could muster, “Pity the cave-in didn’t finish you off.”

"It will take much more than that to kill me." He leaned in again, like a villain in an old movie who's trapped the ingenue. "Much more."

“Whatever it takes,” I whispered, trying not to pull away from his nearness, from his breath so hot against my own face, “I hope it hurts like hell.”

He ignored me. "You'll have to learn your proper place," he said almost tenderly, stroking my cheek, my mark, with the back of his swathed hand. I choked at the feeling of his mouth on mine, his hand under my chin, the barrel of the gun digging into my ribs.

I knew what was happening even before I could see it. Tank let loose a fearsome snarl, and quite suddenly Reed was ripped from me and hurled by the fluidic, invisible form of the predator. Before striding forth to confront Reed, Tank tossed me my spear. I caught it one handed and leapt forward, intent on impaling the sick son of a bitch that I positively hated more than almost anything in the world. Reed had gotten unsteadily to one knee and he pulled the trigger and the wall behind and to the side of me exploded in a shower of rocks and dust. I dropped to a crouch, but Tank, now uncloaked, was undeterred. As Reed took somewhat rushed and fumbling aim, sighting on the hunter, Tank brought his arm blade down in a savage arc and it sliced cleanly through the barrel of the shotgun, rendering it quite suddenly useless.

As Tank struck out again Reed was on his feet, ruined weapon falling away, dodging the strike with a litheness I had to give him credit for, and then he was running hell bent down the passage, away from the hunter and I. I made to rush after him, but Tank hauled me back with a hand on the shoulder. As I spun around, angry, he sliced a hand horizontally in front of me, nixing the idea of pursuit. He turned a thumb to himself and then a forefinger to me, indicating again that we were searching for comrades lost, and my rage faded. He was right, I knew. There would be a time and a place to kill Reed, and I was beginning to realize that almost certainly, it would be by either my hand or that of a hunter that he met his final and justified end.

And as Tank began to walk again, heading in the direction of the man I loathed, I knew that no matter how he died, I was going to take great satisfaction in witnessing it.

**.x.**


	13. H'dlak

**.x.**

“You should have just killed him.”

Tank ignored me, carrying on with his long, even strides as I trailed somewhat disconsolately behind him. We were going the same direction Reed had gone, but I somehow doubted we’d catch up with him; if we did, I suspected he’d have a number of fully armed fellow ex-military friends with him. I had tried explaining this to Tank, but like my last comment, it had fallen on deaf ears. Undeterred, I said, “I wish I could kill him. Or watch one of you kill him.” And that was the absolute, utter honest truth.

Perhaps it was because I’d been rambling off an on for the last hour or so, needing to hear something familiar to keep my mind off other, more unpleasant things, or perhaps it was because when stalking creatures unknown silence was a vital part of discretion – whatever the reason, Tank stopped in his tracks, turned to me, and held up one hand in an unmistakable gesture that indicated he wanted me to be quiet. This was accompanied by an overly unfriendly growl, and with a sigh I clamped my mouth shut and followed obediently after him when he began to walk once more. Without distraction, my mind took the opportunity to occupy itself by dreading things that could and most likely would happen in the near future. I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that I would encounter Reed again, and that fear mingled with the foreboding prospect of what would happen when and if we found Scar.

And on that subject, I slammed every shutter in my mind closed, because dwelling on the topic of the hunter most familiar to me did strange things to my insides and made me feel short of breath. It was a sensation I really didn’t care for, even more so because I knew what it was stemming from. How incredibly ironic it was that things should wind up like this, that I should begin developing some sort of … affection, fondness for a being I’d once thought a monster. Was that what it was? All I knew was that the thought of Scar dead filled me with a kind of dreadful apprehension. The fact that once upon a time his death would have made me nervous only because my survival depended upon his well-being made what I was experiencing that much worse. In another light, if this were happening to somebody else and not me, it would be almost comical.

I snorted then. Comical, my ass. At the sound Tank whipped around, long hair flying in an arc behind him as he turned, and gave another snarl that held the promise of repercussions if I didn’t shut the hell up. Again, it was reminiscent of something Scar would do, and I shook my head, dispelling the longing, the misgivings, that came with such a thought. We began travel again, and this time it was in complete silence. Tank’s cannon was still in firing position, and his left arm blade outright and ready; the agitation wasn’t merely on my behalf, and I felt somewhat heartened by this.

Time passed – hours maybe, by my somewhat disjointed method of figuring. Tank led the way with a sure confidence I found comforting. Many, many times I glanced behind me to ascertain that we weren’t in fact being stalked by whatever other detestable creatures aside from one Reed Weyland still remained down here. Nothing met my gaze but the shadows we’d left behind. The further we went without encountering something hostile, the more I felt my heart lighten—incredulous that it should do so, considering. When Tank, several paces ahead of me, stepped out into a larger branch of the tunnel we currently traversed and erupted into a long, low and what I could only interpret as surprised trill, I felt every muscle in my body tighten with sudden and fearful tension. The high pitched whine of machinery filled the stillness around us as his cannon lowered into its inactive position against his back, and I knew then what awaited me if only I were to step up beside him.

And for one long moment, I seriously considered giving into the powerful urge of turning heel and fleeing desperately back the way we’d come.

I didn’t, to my credit. The fingers of my right hand tightened to the point of pain around the collapsed haft of my spear, and my left hand balled itself into a fist at my side. Extremely nervous, I took the several steps I needed to be standing at Tank’s side, steeling myself, hating myself, confused with myself …

The first thing I saw was a great pool of blood, and it took a moment for me to realize that the fact it was sizzling against the rough, pitted rock of the ground meant it didn’t belong to one of the hunters. From there my gaze traced a garish smear of the putrid green some few feet to something large, something that even in the dim, dusty light of these underground caverns gleamed glossy black that lay crumpled in the far corner. Long limbs were outthrust, the body contorted, indicative of a violent death. The head, a mixture of features from two distinct races I was more familiar with than I ever wanted to be, was half turned in our direction. Most of the blood flowed forth from a jagged, diagonal slash that roughly bisected half the face.

Our prey, our reason for being here, was dead. Tank was already moving as my eyes found then what it was they were so afraid of seeing: Scale crouching on the far side of the passage turned small chamber, and beside him, slouched against the wall, was Scar. Several things I noticed then in quick succession: the medical kit I was far too familiar with lying open before Scale, the sheer amount of fluorescent life blood painting Scar’s body, the way his yellowish, faintly mottled chest, now bereft of the armor that had previously shielded it, rose and fell sharply as he labored to draw breath. Seeing us had prompted Scale, still masked, to emit a harsh chitter I could not interpret. Tank had crossed the floor to crouch over the predalien corpse, leaving me suddenly very alone and unable to decide what I wanted to do more—flee this situation, or move with haste to the side of a certain creature I wanted dearly to hate almost as much as I was fond of.

It was the sound that came from Scar as his mandibles twitched in what had to be a convulsion of pain that drew me hesitantly closer. It was a gasping, strangled, torturous noise. Scale was in the process of preparing the infamous blue gel, and paid me no heed as I knelt carefully on the other side of Scar, setting my spear down beside his removed mask as I did so. Scar’s eyes, mere amber slits, focused only briefly on me before rolling back slightly into his head. One of his hands clutched at one of the myriad of wounds decorating his chest. Blood was still leaking from the two shotgun blasts Reed had inflicted, but what elicited a murmur of dismay from me was the almost vertical slice that ran almost the entire length of the right side of his torso. It appeared deep, and blood pooled forth from it in a steady river.

Quite suddenly, I was panicking. Was he dying? Could even the hunters’ medical treatments – far more advanced, I had gathered, than our own—save him? As I watched his fingers, coated in slick vivid green, flex rapidly against his own skin in a paroxysm of agony, it struck me then how very much I wanted him to live. Damn the fates, damn myself, damn life itself for doing this to me—I felt hot tears well up then at the helplessness I felt, at the knowledge I couldn’t do anything but pay witness to this horrible, terrible scene before me.

Tank was there then, standing over us all and staring down at his injured comrade from within the impassive shell of his mask. When he grumbled inquiringly at Scale, tapping his arm device, I paid no heed and instead turned back to Scar, knotting my hands into the loose length of my shirt in frustration. Movement snapped my eyes back around. Scale had risen, and I caught the last vestiges of the laser imaging from his own arm device die away as he gained his feet. When both hunters began to move away, further down the tunnel depths we hadn’t yet explored, I shot to my feet and hurried after them.

“Where are you going?” I demanded, my voice shrill. I hated myself for the fear, for the worry evident in my tone.

It was Scale that turned, and he gave me a growl that was both authoritative and a trifle unkind. For an instant we stared at each other. Tank, standing slightly further ahead, made an impatient noise, and when Scale turned they both continued to walk.

“You can’t leave!” I shouted, full-blown terror having descended. _Where the hell were they going?_ Were they leaving Scar—one of their own—behind to die? “Goddamn it, STOP!”

They did as I asked, and when Tank strode to stand directly before me I was fairly quavering from a mixture of tumultuous emotions. Instead of snarling, instead of giving me some unhelpful guttural noise of disapproval his race seemed so fond of giving, he half turned and gestured, close fisted, in the direction he and Scale had been headed. He then reached over his shoulder and tapped his cannon, grunting, before pointing to the dead predalien. Confounded beyond all belief, I merely shook my head in frenzied frustration, not understanding, not wanting to understand … Tank, with a gravely trill, lightly patted the mark on my cheek and indicated with a swift thrust of his chin to wear Scar was collapsed. And with that he turned to rejoin Scale, and together they both moved with determination and purpose farther down the passage.

And I was left alone then with what I was fairly certain was a dying hunter. A dying hunter I harbored an unprecedented, unbidden, and unwanted affection for.

When I turned back around to face Scar, I was ashamed to realize I was crying.

**.x.**

 


	14. Dhi'ki-de

**.x.**

I once read that in centuries past, some ancient cultures believed there was a healing power in the purity of tears. Standing where I was, weeping in eerie silence, I wished fervently that it was true, that the hot droplets that slid from my eyes to stain my cheeks could heal, could ease pain, could erase everything that ever hurt or caused sorrow. But it wasn’t to be. Beneath my watery gaze Scar’s elicited a rasping growl that echoed in the stillness, reminding me, pulling me slowly towards him. What was I to do? The blue gel in the med-kit lay where Scale had deserted it, but I had no idea whether applying it would do any good. Scar’s body stiffened in the grip of an agony I could only imagine, head falling back hard against the wall and lower mandibles flaring. Resolution—timid, hesitant, and tenuous—prompted me to rush the few steps it took to be before him.

His head had moved minutely, pinched, narrowed eyes following my movement. As I knelt before the abandoned med-kit and scooped up some of the gel into the curved, spoon-like utensil with trembling fingers he snarled at me, the sound ragged and harsh. It would have been threatening if perhaps it hadn’t lacked its regular strength. I regarded him a long moment, tears drying, before inching closer and tentatively reaching the hand with the gel towards the still leaking wounds in his abdomen. My attempt was met with retaliation and though it was a weak blow, he swatted at my arm and succeeded in upending the gel from my grasp. It splattered on the ground, and I cried out in frustration, “Don’t!”

A short bark, faint but undeniably one of ire, was my only response. Abruptly his head jerked back, his eyes swiftly closed, and his arms fell away from his chest before he became still. For a moment I feared he was dead. When I saw the slight rise and fall of his chest I felt relief, unwanted yet so welcome, flood through me. Securing the utensil again I returned for more of the gel, and my hands were shaking so bad it took me several tries to attain it. This time, as I leaned in close to the limp, unmoving form of the hunter, I glanced apprehensively at his face with its slack mandibles to see if he would suddenly awaken. He didn’t, and so I took a deep breath to steel myself before I smeared the healing substance over the first of the bullet holes that had been punched through his chest.

The reaction was instantaneous. I should have known, should have remembered how much the gel hurt when added to an open wound. Scar’s eyes snapped open as a thundering bellow burst forth from his mouth. He thrashed about and one arm caught me across the face in an unintentional backhand. Incapacitated as he was, Scar was still many times stronger than I was, and I was knocked away to land hard on my back against the roughness of the floor. It took me a few blinks to get my vision in focus, and when I swallowed past the knot of pain in my throat I tasted blood. Coughing, I sat up slowly and wiped my mouth with my hand, feeling the warm, moist blood from the blow trail across my skin.

Scar was watching me, breathing hard and fast, hands knotted into tight fists at his side. Uncertain whether he was sorry for hitting me or still irritated, it was with great trepidation that I drew near once more. He made no move to stop me, so I grabbe the utensil from where it had landed after flying from my grip and scooped some more gel into it. Aware of his scrutiny, I very slowly and very carefully crawled forwards on my knees in order to reach the other bullet hole, which was located near the other. I applied the gel quickly, fearing another outburst. His body stiffened and a low hiss escaped him, but that was all. I hazarded another glance up at him as I returned for more gel. His eyes were again closed, but I knew he was still conscious. This time it was the large slash marring most his torso that I was focused on and as the blue stuff touched the injury Scar didn’t hold back his roar. As I smeared the last of the gel down the length of the slice I drew back quickly, fearing another repercussion.

His hand shot out then, clamping down on the wrist not occupied with applying the substance. Startled, I looked up to meet his eyes, so fierce in their regard. His upper mandibles flared slightly, and that familiar purr, lacking its usual strength, poured forth. The sound calmed me somewhat, and when he raised his other, slightly shaking arm to point at the med-kit I paid close attention. He crooked his longest finger in a beckoning gesture. He wanted me to bring the kit closer, and so I complied, setting the utensil down.

Placing the med-kit beside him, I sat back on my heels as he fumbled within it for something, removing the bowl that held the gel and somewhat unsteadily handing it to me. The only sound in the tunnel now was his rapid, shallow breathing and it altered only slightly as he uttered a satisfied grumble, having found what it was he wanted. It was a syringe of some sort, the needle being larger and thicker than anything I’d ever seen in human medical supplies, and the liquid housed with was a vivid orange. Surrounding the black plunger were four outthrust metal tines. It looked like a medical instrument out of some horror movie. Abruptly it fell from his grasp, clattering to the ground. I hastily leaned in to retrieve it and hand it back, but he shook his head and gestured with two fingers to his chest, dead center, and then to me.

He wanted me to administer the needle. I hesitated, which earned me an unpleasant, rattling chitter. Frowning in uncertainty, I got as close to him as I could without actually climbing onto him and raised the syringe, lining the needle tip up with the area he still indicated with a large fingertip. I risked a look up at his face. His eyes narrowed and his head bobbed once, and sucking in a breath I thrust the needle home. His cry was choked, garbled, and awash with sympathy and unease I pressed down hard on the plunger. The tines raised into an upright position as the orange fluid entered his body, and when the last of it had vanished I swiftly removed the needle from his flesh. After returning it to the med-kit, I turned again to study him, to gauge his condition. His breathing was still fast, and though I wasn’t entirely certain what color his skin had been to begin with it seemed to have an almost indiscernible pallor to it. It wasn’t heartening. It seemed as though nothing I’d done had made any difference.

He extended one hand then, palm up, and for a moment I could only stare at it, bemused. When the fingers curled and then lengthened again I understood. Almost unconsciously I took his hand in mine, forgetting in that instant my misgivings, my fears, my reluctant worries, and simply concentrating on the fact that his touch was comforting. Beneath my skin his own was cool, clammy whereas before it had felt as warm as my own. Was he in shock? Could his species fall into such a state? The texture of his flesh was slightly pebbly, sandpapery, and when I realized my fingers were running again and again over his own I jerked back, flushing. He refused to release me, and instead used his grip as leverage to pull me closer. Off balance, I braced myself with the other palm against the upper right part of his chest and become suddenly very aware of our proximity to each other, of the thunder of his heartbeat I could feel beneath my hand where it lay.

It was a tense moment, poignant with things better left unexamined and when he let me go I almost toppled over backwards. Struggling furiously to regain my composure, I ducked my head and avoided his gaze for a few seconds. Raising it again I found that he had leaned his head back and let his eyes close—was he unconscious again? Biting my lip I ran through a myriad of things in my mind, foremost of those the suspicion that perhaps he was in shock. First aid was something I knew well—I had to, for my career fairly demanded it. Body heat was vital in severe situations, and recalling the coolness of his flesh I found myself warring with what I should do, and what I dare not do …

“Screw it,” I whispered then, for was there really any other option? I crept closer, watching him all the while with eyes wide with a nervousness I hadn’t had the dubious honor of experiencing for quite some time. In a furious rush I settled myself beside him, tucking in close to his body but maintaining enough space that I wasn’t clinging. My face felt red, and I knew it must be somewhere close to glowing – affection was much easier to handle within one's own species. He didn’t move at my touch, which worried me. Was he now comatose, lost to the world? I inched my hand towards his arm and gasped when that particular limb suddenly moved. Around my shoulders it went, and when all was said and done I was being held close against his side.

Nothing further happened. I craned my neck back to look upon his face. As before his eyes were closed. It took me long minutes to relax, to allow my body to soften and to realize that in all actuality, being this close to Scar wasn’t all that bad. It was long after that I noticed his body was in fact rather cold. Perhaps his sole reason in drawing me near had been to attain heat from my form to try and warm his own _. It doesn’t really matter, does it?_ I asked myself, _because you’re here, and you’re with him, touching him …_ And there was the stark, brutal truth. Terrified as I was by whatever I felt for Scar, horrified by the implications and utterly confounded as to why this had befallen me, the fact of the matter was that I had, on some level, accepted what I felt.

And now here I was, almost embracing it.

It was only proper that the tears began to flow again—reality, refusing to be ignored any longer, tore them from me. And so once again I wept, tucked close against the side of the hunter I wanted to loathe, wanted to fear, but instead was worried for. When Scar’s breathing evened somewhat, when his flesh against my own wasn’t near as cold, my tears gave way to a weariness brought upon by emotions that drained energy, drained contentment from me. Lulled by breath not my own, lulled by soft, intermittent rumbles, I followed my companion into the welcoming depths of sleep which promised a sanctity I knew I wouldn't find in the waking world.

**.x.**


	15. Nan'ku

**.x.**

There is a state, when hovering on that fine line between the oblivion sleep offers and the awareness of awakening, where one can exist almost in limbo. The fetters and constraints of life have no substance, no consequence, and it is a place where one can simply disregard what makes them a whole and simply _be_. I clung to that state desperately, frantically, even as the aching of my bones pricked relentlessly at my consciousness, even as a deep chill settled over my body in entirety, pulling me slowly and inexorably closer to awareness, to the thankless existence that awaited me. I knew that to open my eyes and concentrate on all those things would lead me only to unhappiness and like the quicksilver tendrils of a wonderful dream the state of merciful ignorance slipped from my grasp. It was with a heavy heart and heavier trepidation that I opened my eyes to confront reality.

I’d forgotten, for those few blissful moments, where exactly I was and what had been done. As I blinked my surroundings into focus, as I recalled in one vivid rush the events that had so recently transpired, a mixture of icy dread and utter dismay settled deep within my core.

Would that this had all been a nightmare …

The weight across my shoulders served only to drive the point home; as I shifted carefully I flicked my eyes upward to find that Scar was conscious, and a rush of blood suffused my face as I met—only for a second—the steady amber of his gaze. I crawled out from beneath his arm as quickly as I could, awkwardly turning once I was free and kneeling before him a small distance away. He hadn’t moved as I’d left his side, but his eyes had tracked my movement. Made uneasy by his stare I studied instead his injuries, noting that the bleeding for the most part had been halted and that the blue gel had faded and dried. His chest rose and fell with greater ease than it had earlier, which was somewhat comforting, and the only sound that broke the stillness between us was that of my own heartbeat thundering erratically in my ears.

_Damn you,_ I told him silently. _Damn the effect you have on me, damn what you’ve done …_

“Why can’t I hate you?” I whispered beseechingly. “Why can’t you hate me?”

From the depths of his throat came his rumbling trill. I watched unmoving as he lifted one hand to probe at the wounds decorating his chest. Freed suddenly from the intensity of his regard I felt momentary relief. An abrupt, low hiss left him as he ran a finger along the edge of the large slash I’d doctored earlier, startling me so that I jumped. As his hand fell away he leaned his head back once more, lower mandibles moving only slightly in a manner that indicated to me that even that slight movement had been tiring. I avoided his gaze for a long, tense moment, staring fervently at the cracked stone I knelt upon and wondering wildly what he was waiting for. Inevitably my eyes were drawn once again to his own.

He made no further sound and simply watched me through slitted eyes, and I in turn remained where I was, on some level aware that my current position was very much like that of some frightened, wary animal preparing for flight. _What do we do now?_ I found myself questioning silently, absurdly. I tried tearing my eyes from his and failed. They held me captive more by my whim than by his. And that, I suddenly realized, was exactly the reason he waited now.

He was waiting for me to choose.

Things had changed undeniably, unalterably, when I’d huddled next to him hours previous. I’d admitted not by word but by deed that I was drawn to him, ever the moth to the flame, and that I’d managed, however slightly, to accept that fact. It was I who had moved to his side, and it had been my decision not to leave when he’d drawn me close with his arm. Every step taken forward in this … relationship … of sorts had been my step, my progress. He’d made his own affection known and had left it at that, giving me the option to do what I would, to make the next choice …

Much like the choice I was faced with now.

I was stared at him then in dawning comprehension, replaying events, analyzing them, and trying to piece together some semblance of a clue, of a hint, of what I was to do next. _Stupid girl_ , my mind said with no small amount of sarcasm, _you know what you have to do next. It’s really quite simple …_

I let out my breath in a long, grimly resigned sigh. Yes, it was quite simple, but that didn’t make it any easier. Swallowing thickly, I tried to slow my heart from its racing, tried to make my breathing even and deep; finally I made the choice I was so afraid of making, and crawled the short distance it took to be once again beside Scar. Once there I rocked back on my heels and risked another glance up at the hunter. His eyes had shifted to track my progress, but he made no effort to touch me. That, I knew, was the other half of my choice, and with bated breath I reached out to complete it.

I took his hand where it lay flat upon the stone floor at his side and lifted it, turned it so that the palm was facing up. Cradling it with one hand of my own, I splayed my fingers of the other out across his palm, noting again the grainy, pebbly texture and the sheer size of his digits next to my own. His fingers were half again the length of my own, ending in nails that weren’t quite claws but were longer, harder, and sharper than that of any human. I studied the contrast of my skin against his, of the yellowish, mottled cast of his flesh in comparison to the duskier hue of mine. I noted the way the veins were prominent across the back of my hand—perhaps a sign of my stress—and the way it seemed so fragile, so insubstantial next to his. And when he gave a soft chitter, and when his fingers closed over mine, I didn’t struggle to pull away. I closed my eyes and gave myself over to the part of me that wanted this contact, that wanted this affirmation, and forced everything else aside.

The only thing that mattered was what I desired most.

Thus we remained for minute upon long minute, hands clasped, the only sound intruding between the conflicting rhythms of our breathing was the occasional soothing rumble he would emit. When I opened my eyes again, I found that his were closed, and so I released his hand in order to return to the spot I had previously held close against his side. Bereft of my touch he turned his head, eyes reopening, with a quiet growl. He caught me by the shoulder as I drew nearer and repositioned me to his liking—still at his side, but half facing him, and with a hand at the back of my neck he rested my head against the upper half of his naked chest that had escaped wounding. My body was tense, muscles rigid, but his hand fell only to the small of my back, and he became still after that. And so I remained, listening to the roar of his heart beneath my ear, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my marked cheek, and found myself wondering how much within me had changed so that this would feel so right.

The answer eluded me because I wanted it to; I had no wish to dwell on the major revolutions that my inner self had undergone so recently, to reflect on how much I’d forsaken, to ponder the morality—if that’s what it could be called any longer—that was posing such a threat to my sanity. When Scar’s breathing deepened and alerted me he was again asleep—if his kind knew sleep as humans did—I let the tenuous hold I had over my own weariness overwhelm me, and gladly I succumbed.

**.x.**

The next time I was awakened was by Scar’s insistence—one hand tugged gently on a length of my hair that had, like most the rest, escaped its bond. I lifted my head from where it lay against his chest, simultaneously blushing and smiling at his method of rousing me, and it was an instant later I realized that of all the things I was currently feeling—embarrassment, shyness, apprehension, fear—there was no guilt to be found, no remorse. And somewhere within me, buried but slowly showing itself, was a sense of accomplishment, of something being finally made right. Brushing futilely at the wayward wisps of my hair and feeling dryness in my parched throat that only water could ease, I mulled over these new revelations only to be pulled from them by Scar’s inquisitive rumbling.

Hating the way my cheeks reddened, I looked up at him, wishing I knew what he thought while at the same time being glad I didn’t know. With the hand closest to me—the hand that had held me to him, my brain helpfully pointed out in order to incite more blushing—he reached out to do what he hadn’t done in quite some time: one finger traced the shape of the scar adorning my cheek. When he was done I caught his hand in my own. He left it lie there a second before retracting it in a long, soft brush of fingers across my palm. Chittering, he set about examining his wounds, and I leaned in closer for a look. To my astonishment, his skin had partially mended itself together, closing the long slash. Moving my eyes to the bullet holes I found that they were almost healed in the same manner. Was this that purpose of the blue gel? Or perhaps this was a reaction from the combination of the gel and the needle? Or maybe the predators simply healed faster than humans did? Whichever it was, it proved—as I’d earlier suspected—that their medical technology surpassed our own by leaps and bounds.

While I was finishing the inspection of his wounds, Scar had retrieved his mask from where it lay beside my spear. As I straightened he attached the two hoses that came over his shoulder from where they originated at his back to the upper corner of his faceplate with a pressurized hiss. I watched as he shook his head slightly, as though to bring his vision through the visor into focus. His upper body was now devoid of the armor that had previously encased it—damaged beyond repair in his struggle with the predalien?—and of his spear and shoulder cannon there was no sign. From there I had to wonder somewhat nervously what would happen next, and I gave voice to my concerns.

“What now?” I asked. Scar was now examining his gauntleted wrist—the same gauntlet, I noted, that held the blades. My first question having been effectively ignored, I prompted once more, “What do we do now?”

In answer, the curved knives exploded forth from his wrist gauntlet with enough force to make me jump. Almost immediately I heard the trill of his laughter. Apparently, I mused dryly, he was feeling better, and with a smile of my own I reached out and pulled hard on a strand of his beringed hair that had fallen over one shoulder. I managed to scuttle back before he could catch me and crouching, I let my own laughter rise above his. He shook his head once, still trilling, before climbing carefully and slowly to his feet. I rose as he did, observing the way his movements were more reserved, more tentative than they had been and knowing that he was testing the extent of the damage to his body and the healing that followed.

He stepped past me then, striding in a stiff manner that bespoke of some residual pain across the length of the tunnel to where the predalien corpse still lay in a depression carved by the acidity of its own blood. I followed him after retrieving my spear and came to a halt at his side. As he stared down at it I knew it had been his kill, his triumph, and I wondered if he would take from it trophies. He surprised me when instead he turned to me and placed one hand on my shoulder, growling, while the other occupied itself by touching my mark. I was never more aware than in that poignant instant of the differences between the hunter and I. He towered over me, could have overwhelmed me and by all rights should have. When he released me with a short bark and turned in the direction Tank and Scale had gone I choked back the doubts and fears that threatened to return and instead focused on the resolve I knew I would need.

And so we left, Scar in the lead, slowed somewhat by his injuries and I trailing close behind in a state that was almost one of numbness. _You’ll be forever haunted by what you’ve done_ , said the malicious part of me as we entered again the narrower confines of the rock tunnel, refusing to be silenced.

_You would have been forever haunted by what you hadn’t done_ , said another part of me. I sighed, and it wasn’t a happy smile. Both voices spoke the truth.

**.x.**

 


	16. Thwei

**.x.**

It was amazing, I discovered quickly, just how much punishment a hunter could take and still be able to function with some level of normalcy. Leading the way once again Scar moved at a speed that had me following at a brisk walk with only a slight limp to his step was enough to let me know he was still in some pain. I let myself marvel at the swiftness of his healing in order to keep my mind of other things, but the further into the confusing mass of subterranean tunnels we went there was one question that hovered constantly at the edge of my thoughts with increasing intensity.

_What will happen to me once we’re free of this place?_

_If_ we get free, I corrected mentally. But it was a valid question, one that I found myself pondering despite my earlier resolutions. Down here reality seemed somewhat surreal, for it was down here that I’d admitted to myself I was attracted to a creature not of this earth, and it was down here I’d given in—somewhat—to the affection I felt. It was easy enough to acknowledge when the only beings present were myself and the object of my fledgling infatuation, but outside these caves lurked the world and the life I’d so conveniently chosen to forget about when I huddled close to Scar. Reed was still a problem, as were the rest of Scar’s race—I had a funny feeling that relations between Scar and myself weren’t exactly going to be encouraged. _Relations—_ I almost laughed then, at the sheer impossibility that one word contained. Almost. Instead I gave myself a mental shake and decided from that point on to think only of survival, to not dwell on what I should and should not have done.

Time enough for that, after all, once we found our way out of here …

From time to time Scar would slow to a halt and simply stand, and I, drawing to a stop near his side, knew he was resting, attempting to regain some strength. On occasion during these pauses he’d trail a hand over unruly wisps of my hair, or lightly pat the mark on my cheek. Apparently he wasn’t suffering from the same uncertainties I was. And when he’d begin to walk again I’d follow unthinkingly, wishing I had more to defend myself with than just a spear, and wishing he had more to his arsenal than just his wrist knives. He was deadly with them—I knew that much for I had seen him disembowel an alien single-handedly with one swipe. For some reason he looked so bare without the armor and the cannon I’d seen him wearing most of the time.

And eventually my musings led me to wondering about Scale and Tank, about why they had left us behind, about what they had seen on Scale’s arm device that had prompted them to leave. The predalien was dead, but perhaps they wanted to ensure that the other aliens were eradicated completely. Or maybe they had no use for an injured comrade, but I couldn’t really believe that. And so I remained thoroughly undecided on the subject, until suddenly Scar stopped dead in his tracks, grabbed me by the shoulder, and shoved me roughly to the floor. He followed suit, folding into a crouch. I glared up at him with the rough, jagged stones of the cavern floor digging into my stomach and was about to say something loud and rude when he shook his head, holding up one hand, and pointed.

My head turned in the direction he indicated, roaming the darkness of the tunnel ahead and trying to find what it was had caught his attention. It took me a moment before I could make out a shadow climbing a wall in a slight bend some several feet away, It belonged undeniably to a man, and I felt something unpleasant tighten in my gut. The only humans down here besides me where Reed and his own proverbial hunting party … I watched with bated breath as the shadow began to move, as it wavered while its origin began to move further away.

And it was then I heard the sound of many hushed voices.

I couldn’t have risen even if I wanted to because Scar had placed one hand firmly between my shoulder blades, restraining me. When finally the quiet whispers and the almost inaudible scuff of feet over stone faded he stood, and I slowly did the same cautiously, afraid now that the men would hear me and return. Scar watched as I ran my fingers over the length of my spear nervously, and finally I asked softly, “What are we going to do?”

With a soft grumble, one of his large hands came up to wrap around the back of my neck and with gentle pressure he pulled my head down until my forehead rested lightly against the thick muscle of his chest. Though surprised, I didn’t resist, and a second later he had released me and taken a step back. Blinking, I stared after him. His touch, I realized, had been a gesture of reassurance, of comfort. He lifted two fingers and then pointed again in the direction where the men had been standing. I nodded, resolute; deep down I’d known this was what we would do all along.

We were going to hunt those who were hunting us.

**.x.**

For what seemed like hours, we crept along, keeping just enough distance between us that faint noises from the men echoed back to us. Scar, as always, led the way one slow step at a time, exuding a sort of stealth I’d seen only in the large cats that roamed the wilderness. He carried the arm with the extended wrist blades slightly elevated, in preparation to strike should anything unsavory make its appearance. For my part, I held my spear in a death grip, having extended it before we began traveling. I knew that even with Scar at my side that a confrontation with Reed’s party was going to end badly. They had more firepower than we did, and they undoubtedly knew how to use it.

Eventually the tunnel began widen, sides angling outward, until it finally spilled out into an enormous cavern. The roof soared so high it was lost to darkness; with one hand held up Scar directed a halt to our march at the mouth of the large cave; I half sidled around him in order to see what awaited us. I wasn’t surprised, but I was dismayed, for standing maybe one hundred feet away were the men we had been stalking—they were seven strong, including, I saw with despair, their leader Reed. The men were in combat formation, spread out in a V, and I saw why an instant later.

Scale and Tank were facing them, motionless. Scale had a shuriken in one hand and a spear in another, and Tank’s cannon was in the firing position, the barrel glowing slightly. Reed, shotgun cradled over his splinted arm, was shouting orders to his men, and I didn’t need to decipher the words to know what he wanted. He was ordering the death of the predators, and while I knew that Tank and Scale could hold their own, I was still terrified.

“Aim low!” I heard him cry out. “Try not to damage their equipment!”

I heard the sound of weapon safeties being switched off, of rounds being loaded into chambers, and it was then I decided to act.

“ _Reed!”_ I screamed.

**.x.**


	17. First ending: U'sl-kwe

**.x.**

My voice grabbed the attention of everyone, though I hadn’t screamed out for the purpose of a diversion. Reed and some of his men whipped around, weapons rising, while the rest stayed focused on Scale and Tank. I’d acted out of terror, out of fear, but as Scar exploded into action beside me, as his two comrades took the momentary interruption to launch their own attack, I realized that perhaps what I’d so inadvertently done had been a good thing.

The world exploded into sound in a split second. The men facing my direction began to fire as Scar hurtled towards them, and though he moved so swift he was a blur I was certain he’d been hit at least once. Vibrant, brilliant blue seared my eyes as from where he stood flanking the men, Tank’s cannon fired, and frantically blinking the lingering spots away from my vision I watched in numb awe as Scale let fly his shuriken to be followed rapidly by his spear. One of the men now striking ineffectively at Scar with the butt of his assault rifle was decapitated in a spray of crimson gore, and the spear cleanly impaled another that was in the panicked process of reloading his weapon. Clutching my own spear, unable to act, I observed in a state of shock as Scar neatly and skilfully eviscerated another man, and as he fell screaming to the ground, clutching at his entrails which threatened to spill over, my eyes were drawn to the moving form of Reed.

He was running, whirling from the battle before him, from the decimation of his troop and making with all his speed for an opening in the cavern some twenty feet away. And driven by instinct, unthinking, I bolted after him. I leapt across the body of the screaming man, slipping slightly in the already substantial pool of blood widening around him. Stumbling to regain my balance I reached the tunnel just in time to see Reed disappear around a corner. I followed, feeling a perturbing, icy calm settle over me. All that was happening behind me and all that would await me meant nothing then, for I was focused on one thing and one thing only. Reed couldn’t escape, and on some small level it frightened me that I wasn’t afraid to do what had to be done in order to stop him.

Reed had to die.

**.x.**

I ran for all I was worth, arms pumping in rhythm to the racing thunder of my heart. _Can’t let him get away_ , sang my inner voices. Perhaps it was the adrenalin, or maybe just the iron determination I’d suddenly been beset with—whatever it was, every ache, every pain in my body melted away, leaving me only with cold and grim resolve. Vaguely I realized that the tunnel I was racing through was elevating slightly. Was this an exit, or simply another labyrinthine deception? It didn’t matter, though, because as I slipped with as much agility as I could through an S curve in the passage I found myself on the receiving end of a vicious uppercut.

My head snapped back and my vision swam; reeling I staggered back, colliding hard with the wall behind me. Reed leapt at me, swinging the shotgun he held two handed and as I desperately dove to the side to avoid the blow I took heart in the fact that he was obviously out of ammunition. Despicable, underhanded, and scourge of mankind he may have been, but he knew how to handle himself in combat, and as I tried with increasing difficulty to avoid being struck I wondered if perhaps my assumption I could take him down had been a tad premature.

And then he stumbled.

A stalactite had snared him, and as he lunged for me, thrusting out with the butt end of his weapon he went down to his knees. I took the opportunity deliver a heartfelt and furious kick to his midsection, and as his breath left him in an agonized _whoosh_ , as he crumpled to the ground, I felt a very uncharacteristic smile curve my lips.

“How’s it feel?” I asked him softly, and everything I felt for him was blatantly evident in the trembling undercurrents of my voice.

He panted, eyes glittering with what I could only assume was hatred, but still he kept his maddening grin. He held his splinted arm across his midsection and staggered to his feet. Our glares locked upon each other. "Is that all you have?" he taunted, though his breath was labored.

“No,” I said. I stabbed at him with my spear. He caught the end of it with his good hand and twisted it down and to the side. Enraged, hating him with everything I was, I swung out in immediate retaliation with my free arm, and the noise my fist made as it connected with his cheek was the most satisfying I’d ever heard. He released my spear. Wanting to pummel him until every bone was broken I struck him again with a backhand, and as he stumbled back blood flowed freely from both his nose and his mouth.

_"BITCH,"_ he snarled, suddenly leaping forward. He jabbed the butt of the shotgun forward viciously. It caught my injured shoulder even as his other hand shot toward my stomach. He didn't seem to care about hurting his wrist further, if the force behind it when it connected with my stomach was any indication.

Winded, I spun aside, attempting to avoid his next shot, which struck me a glancing blow off my stable shoulder. It’s hard to be nimble when you’re doubled over and gasping for breath, but somehow I managed. When he caught me across the back with the length of his shotgun I went down hard, sprawling on all fours against the unforgiving, rocky tunnel floor.

Reed was upon me before I could regain my feet, kicked me hard in the side and made me collapse. "You know what I hate more than having to brush little obstacles out of my way?" he asked as he approached, and I could hear him tap the tip of the shotgun against the stone meaningfully. "Uppity women who don't understand their place in the world." He reached me where I lay, towering above me in the darkness. I could almost feel the barrel of the weapon hovering somewhere near my head. "It's too bad. I bet you'd be a tiger in bed."

“You’ll never know,” I wheezed past the constricting ache in my lungs. He hefted the shotgun, preparing to hammer it into me, and I lashed out with the utmost desperation. My leg sliced a wide arc, hitting his behind the knees and sweeping then out from under him. He toppled, landing with an audible noise on his tailbone. I reared up on my knees and shoved my spear down in one hurried and frenzied movement.

It took me a moment to realize what I’d done, to take note of the stain steadily darkening Reed’s clothing, to comprehend that I’d actually impaled him. With a face rapidly becoming white he stared at me, mouth opening and closing, and when he found his voice it was almost noiseless, heavily strained.

"I..." he began to sink to the ground. "...I...hah." Reed struggled to speak, to say something worthwhile as his life faded. "Lex..."

I stared down at him and was devoid then of guilt, of sorrow for what I’d just done, of horror at myself for having done it. Within me there was only a vindictive satisfaction, a righteous exultation because I had brought him down after every threat and wound he’d given me. I came to my feet slowly, painfully, and with a wrench I ripped the spear free of his body and Reed let out a strangled cry as I did so. Standing over him, I said quietly, “It’s what you deserve.”

"You..." he choked, "...bitch. I...I hope you...die." He let out a wheezing laugh, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. "M...maybe screwing...your monster."

“My monster,” I repeated without inflection. “You’re more monster than he is.” Leaning heavily on the spear, I crouched down beside him, wincing as muscles not shielded by adrenalin protested the movement. “I’m a monster too, because I’m not sorry for killing you, Reed. If anything … I’m glad it’s over for you.”

A gurgling noise came from him as a small torrent of blood erupted from his mouth to splatter against his chin. He tried to speak twice and failed, body tensing in a convulsion undoubtedly brought on by pain. Both his hands clenched at the wound in his gut, and both were coated in the crimson fluid that steadily flowed forth. His death was going to be painful, and it didn’t bother me at all.

_Once upon a time_ , said a sad voice I didn’t want to hear but couldn’t ignore, _it would have._

His breath rattled in his throat as he formed words, but they died as suddenly his eyes widened, focused on something behind me. I didn’t have to turn and look. I already knew what was there.

"...have me," I caught the tail end of his faint, gasped words. Fear made his voice stronger just for a moment, and he repeated, holding up a bloody hand in pathetic supplication, "Don't...let them...have me!"

I could have done as he asked. I could have ran the razor edge of my spear head across his neck or thrust it through his eye socket. And in that moment I found myself faced with a decision that pulled at separate halves of me, to take his life immediately, a merciful gesture, or to let him endure the inevitable torture at the hands of the predators. It took me but an instant to decide, and I rose to my feet slowly while shaking my head.

“It’s what you deserve,” I said again, but this time accompanying my words was the slightest twinge of remorse that I hurriedly attempted to smother.

Whatever whispered plea passed his lips next was lost in the soft growling of Scar as he stepped up to stand on the other side of Reed. Tank and Scale, I was relieved to see, were both alive but bleeding, and stopped only a few paces away from where Reed lay. All their collective gazes were on the contorted form of Reed, and I wondered whether they’d leave him here to die or end it themselves. When Scar removed from where it was tied in a coil at his waist the length of wire I’d seen him use again and again I watched with as much indifference as I could muster—not an easy feat considering my conscience had finally crept back from the depths I had cast it into—as he knelt and roughly lifted Reed’s ankles before lashing them tightly together. And when he looked back at the three of us with an odd barking snarl and began to drag Reed’s writhing body further into the passage, we followed after him. I trailed behind the hunters, using the extended length of the spear for support as each step jarred everything that hurt within me. I was torn, irrevocably so, for as much as I didn’t want to see what was about to happen to the man I hated, there was something inside me that yearned to observe his torment and anguish, because if ever there was a person deserving of such things, it would be he. As we traveled, a gruesome, brutal procession, Reed’s sounds of suffering echoed back to me. Trying resolutely to ignore them I flicked the spear I carried back into it’s compact version and attached it again to my belt.

We didn’t go far. The tunnel spilled into another cavern with a roof close to fifteen feet in height. The wall nearest the entrance we passed through was rife with jagged, angled stalagmites as thick through as the torso of my companions. I stopped just inside the cavern, suddenly leery of going any further, and so I watched as Scar, dragging Reed and flanked by his comrades, approached one of the hooked, curved outthrusts of rock splitting out from the wall. With a purpose seemingly single minded he reached up and wrapped the wire binding Reed around the stalagmite, which was situated a few inches higher than Scar himself stood. He pulled it tight then, walking backwards with the end, and as he did so Reed’s body rose slowly into the air. Once Reed dangled effectively helpless above the ground, Scar swiftly tied off the wire. With a growl he moved to stand before a fervently whispering Reed and with one swipe of his hand tore free from the dying man’s frame his blood soaked jacket and shirt.

The clothing fell in tattered shreds from Scar’s grasp; I couldn’t stifle the gasp that escaped me as the wound I’d inflicted to Reed was exposed in entirety. It was a crater in his abdomen, jagged edges made by the spear head’s barbs clearly visible, glistening slick with blood. It was a mortal injury, of that I had no doubt, one of excruciating pain. A gut wound was a slow way to bleed out. The fact that he was still alive was somewhat surprising, although I found myself wishing I _had_ in fact done as he’d asked back in the cavern and ended his life. I didn’t want to see what was about to happen, I didn’t, and had actually taken two steps back before I realized I was moving. And when Scar turned from Reed and strode towards me, I experienced an almost overwhelming sinking sensation. He slowed as he neared, head cocked with a soft chitter, before pointing with a thumb over his shoulder to where he had left Reed.

“No,” I told him, shaking my head, eyes wide, “I can’t.”

His chitter became a growl, and as I started again to back away it deepened into a snarl. Lightning fast he reached for me, wrapping one arm around my wrist, and when he turned and began the path back to Reed he was more dragging me than leading me. Reaching our destination he stepped around behind me, placing both hands firm on my shoulders, and I was caught with nothing left to do but gaze upon the man I had condemned to death.

Long moments Scar held me captive thus. Though my eyes wanted dearly to look at something, _anything_ , other than Reed with red froth coating his lips and more crimson staining his upper body completely, they were drawn uncontrollably back to him. He was cursing me soundlessly and I could see the hatred in his tortured gaze. And when I felt the familiar burn of tears prickling at my eyes, when I felt the telltale ache in the back of my throat, I was then relieved—there was a piece of me, untouched, untainted by my trials, that was still human, for I was split between wanting this man dead and feeling horrible for what I’d done.

As I fought to restrain my turmoil, to blink the moisture away from my eyes Scar’s hands fell away. He circled around me to stand before and to the side of Reed. His head turned to me, and from beneath his visored mask I could feel the weight of his gaze, judging, measuring. His wrist blades, retracted again to reside within his gauntlet, sprang forth with a sound that echoed in the eerie stillness of the cavern. I stared at those weapons, and furiously hoped I wouldn’t be called upon to do as I feared I must …

Scar rumbled, an inquisitive noise, and I closed my eyes in despair. And when that rumble became impatient and angry my eyes snapped open to fix on him again, and I suddenly couldn’t control everything I felt, everything threatening to drown me, to consume me. With a voice that wavered badly I cried out, _“Kill him!”_

He did as I directed; in one swift, effortless movement he’d turned, slicing Reed open from collarbone to groin. I was close enough that spray from the blow splattered against my face, my lips, and soaked through my clothing. Reed’s dying scream resounded painfully all around us and as his innards slithered forth to lie in a horrific pile upon the ground it died away into a haggard gasp. Riveted to the spot, I watched as Scar circled around the still twitching corpse. When his blades rose and fell again I averted my face, trying to block the sounds of flesh being rent, trying not to notice that Scar was dismembering the body. It was a lengthy task, and when finally I heard his triumphant bark I raised my reluctant gaze to see what trophy it was he took—immediately I felt my knees give way, and then I was on the ground looking up.

Scar held Reed’s head aloft by a tuft of hair, the attached spinal column glistening dimly in the light. I heard a soft noise, a sound of dismay, and it took me a moment to realize it had come from me. Scar paid me no heed, stepping around me to rejoin with his companions, and I had time then to wonder if I would mind if they left now, and I never saw them again. I heard the predators converse for long minutes and then the telltale sound of footsteps receding, and actually found myself faced with the prospect of being alone down in those depths with a dead man hanging not five feet from my face. A gravely purr came to me then, and it was another moment before I could find the strength it took to rise, turn and face Scar.

He was emptied handed once more, wrist blades sheathed, and stood with head inclined to the side in contemplation of me. His bare torso was decorated much like mine in spatters of Reed’s—and his own—blood, and the vivid color was an offset to his mottled, dusky skin tone. Silence stretched on between us; what was he waiting for? Did he expect me to condemn him, to hate him for what I’d just witnessed? How could I, when I was the one that had instigated it—I’d had the chance to grant Reed a quick death, after all—I’d done nothing, really, to cease Scar’s actions …

And there I had it. Reed was dead because of me, had died the way he had because of me. It may not have been my hand that had completed the task, but it _had_ been my will that had directed it. Through the mixture of self-condemnation and disgust I fought for clarity, for peace of mind, and took the faltering steps I needed to be standing before him. Reed had been an enemy, one that had obviously been deemed a threat by the hunters, and Scar had done what I’d seen him do with the aliens he’d hunted and slain. This was no different, though Reed had been human, for I was beginning to understand that in the grand scheme of things there was only hunter and prey.

When Scar caught me by the shoulder and hauled me closer I let him, and I rested my forehead of my own volition against his chest, ignoring the coolness of drying blood I felt against my skin. And quickly I pulled away, letting him trace the mark on my cheek as I did so, letting him comb two fingers through the loose pieces of my hair. And when he took my hand in his and tugged me after him as he began to walk, I went willingly. I didn’t know where we were going, and I didn’t look back.

**.x.**

He led me out of the caverns and tunnels, out of the hell I’d endured, and an immeasurable time later I felt the familiar icy chill of open Antarctic air brush my skin, and raised my lowered head to peer past Scar’s shoulder. I’d paid no attention whatsoever to our surroundings, so lost was I in inner misery, and now I found that we were walking down a snow crusted passage towards a sky I could see that glittered with stars.

We left the tunnel and the cold almost took my breath away; I’d left my jacket somewhere back in the caverns. Standing not far off were Scale and Tank. I studiously avoided looking at what macabre trophy dangled from Scale’s grasp. And then I noticed other things—the gathering of buildings not far off and the glow of headlights which belonged to snow crawlers, and realized that our trek below ground had brought us almost full circle; we’d exited from rocky bluffs on the other side of the whaling station.

Scar began to walk again, releasing my hand, and I trudged behind in his footsteps. Tank and Scale were ahead of us, forging the way through drifts of snow, and by the time we entered the furthest reaches of the whaling station I was feeling the first indications of frostbite in my extremities. Our party came to a halt then, Tank in the lead turning to face Scar and I, Scale following suit. When Tank approached me and clapped me hard on my uninjured shoulder with a soft roar I knew instinctively he was bidding me farewell. A rough pat on the head was the last of his goodbye as he stepped aside for Scale, who merely inclined his head with a chitter and lightly ran a finger over my mark. As one the two turned and began to walk, heading further into the village, and I was left very alone with Scar.

He was heading in the other direction, and when I didn’t immediately follow he snarled quietly. I caught up with him as quick as I could, wondering somewhat dazedly what was going to happen now, and feeling dread creep in to torment me along with everything else. We didn’t go far. As I watched the lights of the snowcrawlers draw nearer I knew a swift pang of sorrow at what I feared was about to happen. Scar didn’t stop until we stood directly before one of the large machines. The Weyland logo along the side of them informed me they were what Reed and his team had taken to arrive here from the _Piper Maru._

Hunter and human we faced each other, and a familiar poignant silence stretched on between us. When he tugged fondly on a lock of my hair I knew that what I feared was inevitable, and it was confirmed when he reached up and removed the hoses from the side of his mask. With his countenance exposed, mask in hand, he took one step and then another closer. He stopped when only a hairsbreadth separated us. Both hands came up to place themselves on my shoulder. It was with closed eyes that I felt a soft, minute sensation flutter across my temples, and they snapped open again as I realized he’d graced me with the touch of his mandibles.

He didn’t move back, but simply regarded me with the intense amber of his gaze. He was, I knew, saying goodbye. I didn’t have to wonder why he was leaving, for despite whatever mutual affection we may have had we were different creatures from different worlds. I’d suspected, back in the caves and separated from this reality, that it would most likely come to this. Strange how I felt so hollow, so saddened by the truth that confronted me.

“Goodbye, then,” I whispered, lifting my hand to tug on a piece of his hair. He caught my hand with his own and squeezed it tight for a minute before releasing it. His fingers moved to trace slowly the mark I bore, the mark he’d given me. And when finally his hand fell away, when finally he took one step back, it hit me just how much I’d come to depend on and enjoy the company of this hunter. Our eyes met and held again, and then he lifted his mask back into place and replaced the hoses, one at a time. I watched numbly, noting how his movements seemed slightly sluggish and slowed. Without the mesh, without his armor, was he succumbing to the bitter cold?  I was beginning to feel the effects of the harsh climate as well, and I wrapped my arms tightly around myself.

After another second of regarding each other he thumped himself on the chest once and inclined his head. And despite all I felt an answering smile curved my lips.

“I’ll see you later,” he said in a voice I recognized to be that of Ana—he’d expanded his vocabulary, I noted with aching amusement, when on board the _Piper Maru._ He turned then. I didn’t bother watching him head back towards the whaling station, back towards his comrades and whatever waited with them. I fumbled with shaking fingers with the door to the nearest crawler, and when it opened I hauled myself inside awkwardly. The key was in the ignition and when I turned it I was greeted by the loud rumble of the crawler’s engine; I flicked the heater onto high before letting my head fall to rest against the steering wheel.

The _Piper Maru_ was still out there, for it wouldn’t leave without Reed. I didn’t know what I’d tell them when I returned, and at that moment didn’t really care. I was alive yes, against all odds, and while part of me was jubilant at this the other part, the part that mourned the loss of whatever brief flicker of involvement I’d had with Scar, was greatly saddened. And so for long minutes I sat, mired in an internal abyss, until I recalled just what it was that Scar had so recently said to me.

_I’ll see you later._

I’d assumed he’d meant it as a farewell, but perhaps he knew the full meaning of those words? What if he’d meant exactly what he’d said?

And quite suddenly, I found a smile again gracing my face.

**.x.**


	18. Second ending: Nan-de Than-guan

**.x.**

My voice merely served to act as a catalyst, for as my cry echoed wildly throughout the cavern violence exploded on all sides. Flashes lit the area as gunfire roared forth. Scar shoved me hard to the side, and I went down in a rough, ungraceful heap. Rolling onto my knees, clutching the spear, I watched as Scale smashed into the men, vibrant green gore spraying forth as the fire from at least three separate weapons tore into his body. The subsequent collision scattered the men. I had just gained my feet only to be thrown back as one of Reed’s lackeys came staggering into me.

Instead of dealing with the larger, deadlier threat of the predators the man decided to turn his attention to me. His expression as I scrambled up to confront him was one of utter anxiety. Whatever Reed had told his team apparently hadn’t prepared them for encountering the hunters head on. He viciously shoved the barrel of his assault rifle into my midsection and I doubled over as my breath left me in a painful torrent. _He’s going to shoot you!_ my brain screamed but the man suddenly let out a strangled shout, and I managed to straighten enough to see Scar’s wrist blades protruding from his abdomen. As Scar ripped them free in a savage vertical arc blood and chunks of thicker gore spattered my face and body, and the man toppled over to land face first at my side.

Scar nudged at the dropped assault rifle with his foot, growling at me, before turning and rushing for the battle, a roiling mass of ferocity in his own right. Stunned and a trifle horrified I stared for a long moment at the still twitching corpse of the man before the shouts and roars of the combatants mingled simultaneously to a booming crescendo. Attaching my spear quickly to my belt I scooped up the rifle and brought it to my shoulder. It was heavy and unwieldy, but with my finger against the trigger I felt much, much safer than I had before.

I took aim then, squinting and trying to steady the trembling of my hands. The crosshairs in my vision danced from predator to human. The men had learned the hard way just what a predator could do to their defenses when guns were no longer an option. I couldn’t get a clear shot and was about to through my newly acquired weapon down in frustration when movement caught my attention from the corner of my eye. Reed had managed to escape the brunt of the current brawl and was crouched behind some stalagmites, fumbling with something at his waist in frantic haste. I realized an instant later what it was he held and felt my blood run cold. Between one breath and the next I sighted on him and pulled the trigger.

I’d never wielded an assault rifle before and the kickback sent me stumbling into the wall behind me as my shot went wide, biting into the ground a mere few feet from Reed and sending up a shower of debris. It was enough to distract him, however, and he whipped around, dropping the grenade to focus on me. I steadied myself and brought the rifle up again, my intent to finish the task, to end his miserable life when a blast of abrupt brilliant, vivid blue blinded me—Tank’s cannon had fired. And when I blinked away the haze resulting from the bright assault I discovered two things almost simultaneously—Reed had taken the diversion as an opportunity to flee from where he’d been hiding, and Scale lay prostrate on the ground, limbs out flung. Was he dead? I had no time to wonder, because Tank’s cannon erupted again, and I was too late in closing my eyes. This time it took longer for my vision to clear, and when I could make some sense of my surroundings I found myself face to face with Reed.

Too late I saw his fist coming toward my face. I tried to dodge, but still it connected, jolted my teeth and rattled my brain. I staggered back into a stalagmite column, head spinning. He advanced, backhanding me with the same arm. This time, I stumbled to the side and fell to my knees. "Lex, Lex," he sneered, "You don't look so well."

I tried to lift the rifle, to get a shot off, but he kicked it out of my grasp and sent it skittering across the stone floor. I had managed to get myself up on one knee when he caught me by the collar and hefted me upright. His breath on my face, his fierce and savage smile were combined revolting, and so I spit at him, enjoying the way my mingled blood and spittle struck his face. Immediately his expression soured, and when he spoke next he lowered his head until his lips hovered over my own.

"I gave you every chance, Lex, and now it's too late." His hand tightened, cutting off my air. "You would have been worth the aggravation."

I tried to choke something out, to verbally defy him though I was awash in both terror and fury. He was going to kill me without hesitation, and here I was helpless … I lashed out as best I could with one leg but it was a weak blow, and Reed’s breath left him then in a soft chuckle.

And then he was ripped away with a violence that had me sprawled unceremoniously on the ground. Twisting around, I looked up just in time to see Scar raise Reed’s squirming form to eye level with one hand around the neck. A roar that shuddered the stone beneath me left him then, and in one seamless, effortless, powerful movement the hunter hurled Reed away. My eyes were torn from the man’s flight as a haggard scream replaced Scar’s bellow. Standing swiftly I turned to see Tank holding his own against the last two remaining men. I started forwards unthinking, wanting to assist somehow; Scar caught me by the shoulder with a shake of his head. And so I watched as Tank neatly beheaded one of the men with a backwards thrust of one arm blade; deftly whirling about he impaled the other and hoisted him high into the air with a triumphant scream.

The noise I made then was one of thankful relief. We’d survived-

And then Scar made an urgent noise, and his hands were on me, pushing me away. And as I tottered off balance, I turned as best I could to see what was wrong, why he’d done this. And in the instants that slowed infinitesimally before I hit the ground, my eyes found Reed standing where he’d obviously landed, and then they focused on the object hurtling through the air towards Scar and I …

A grenade.

“ _NO!”_ I screamed, and had just raised my arms to shield my face when a deafening noise rushed over me followed by excruciating heat and a blast that lifted me and brutally tossed me further. And then I struck the ground, still screaming, and had a moment to realize that the cavern, rocked by the explosion, was no longer stable. Stones and rubble rained down all around me. I scrambled to all fours and tried to stand up, tried to run—

Agony erupted in my head and my vision darkened, and before I collapsed, I desperately prayed for a miracle.

**.x.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was short for a reason. It leads directly into a third story, "Subtle Threat", which unfortunately I never finished. I'll be posting it on AO3 within the next couple of days. (All of my AVP fanfics are available to read on Fanfiction.net, author name: Solain Rhyo.)
> 
> I wrote this 11 years ago, and despite the myriad mistakes within it, it remains one of my favorite pieces to date. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.


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